The Further Adventures of The Joker & Harley Quinn
by wbss21
Summary: The Joker's finally completed Ms. Quinn's transformation, and she out in the world with him for the first time. Harley is finally getting a dose of what The Joker's ACTUALLY like and seeing what it truly means to be in his world. Sequel to "For You".
1. Chapter 1

**The Further Adventures of The Joker and Harley Quinn:**

**Chapter 1:**

The Joker slid, head first, in to the cold brick of a defunct apartment building, one of many which hung like an open wound along the numerous, derelict ridden streets of Gotham city. A flash of white exploded in his eyes as soon as his skull made contact with the hardened material, and he laughed as though on queue, pushing himself to his hands and knees. He knew it was only a matter of moments before his body would again be lifted, as though weightless, off the ground and flung in some opposite direction, and he waited for it with wanting expectancy. He'd _really_ made him mad this time and was blissful in the awareness of having done so. An instant later and again he was violently off the ground, his body being heaved and thrashed with abandon, thrown with force in to another wall, and another explosion of white in his eyes and high pitched noise filled his ears, followed then by the salty, metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and wet dripping from his nose. And again he laughed, unable to contain his own excitement, his own jubilation, and he turned then to watch as Batman advanced on him quickly, the look in his eyes of wanting to kill. The Joker knew it well. He lived for the moments when he would see the desire in the vigilante's eyes.

"Oh darling, you love it so, don't you?" He harassed the sinewy muscled, athletic man who came on him like a hurricane of rage, lifting him once more by the lapels of his tailored, well fitted suit jacket and slamming him hard in to the wall, pushing down against his chest with great force.

"_Why _Joker?!" Batman spit. "Why did you do it?!"

The madman's head rolled back and a laugh erupted from his throat before looking back to his attacker and smiling as though innocent.

"I told you sweetheart, I did it for you!" He airily reminded. "Think of it as a gift."

Batman ground his teeth, pressing harder still against The Joker.

"You _destroyed_ her! Spread your madness like a disease to an innocent, young girl!"

The Joker's brow furrowed and he held a look of first confusion and then incredulity.

"Oh Batsy, you know that's not true. Not true at all." He held tight to the vigilante's hands as the pressure on his chest increased and his voice came out in a strained whisper. "Innocent she wasn't, not by any socially accepted definition of the word." He chuckled. "And she already was mad, I can attest to that. All you can say I am guilty of is having helped her to embrace that part of who she was."

The detective pulled away from the wall, still holding tight to his arch nemesis, slamming him hard against the cold concrete of the street. Again The Joker giggled, like a child being mercilessly tickled.

"She _killed_ because of your corruption Joker! She's taken a life now! You've gone too far!"

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Shock and awe is hardly your forte. I feel I've heard this some place before. Besides, it wasn't as though I badgered the girl in to it. I simply offered her positive encouragement."

Batman starred in utter disbelief at how lightly The Joker regarded what he had done, as though it were some game, some joke, and The Joker starred back, grinning, his white teeth smeared red with his own blood. But quickly the smiled disappeared and he looked at once contemplative.

"I wanted to show you Batman, why you so anguish. It was always there in her; the ability to kill. Just as I see it now is in you. But her resolve isn't of your standard; her conviction was never so true. She is happy; believe me when I tell you. She was before a prisoner of denial, the same as most every wretch inhabiting this god-forsaken world. The same as you now are. I set her free, taught her to relinquish all self-doubt and the hindrance of morality. She at last is at peace with what she is, no longer afraid. Don't you see? I can't understand your rage. Your pain, yes, I know it to be the cause, but there is no logic in your anger."

Batman's grasp tightened and his eyes blazed in fury.

"Logic?!" He growled. "You speak of logic!? You're insane!"

The Joker pouted, and he looked very suddenly wounded.

"But why do you say such things?" He questioned, as though he were sincerely perplexed. "Because I choose to struggle _not_ against what is? That only will lead you down the path of misery. To stumble through, upholding the burden of constant fear, battling in vain against the inevitable, indiscriminant, uncompromising hand of death, _that_ is insanity Batman. You are so very discontent because you languish against an unstoppable tide, towards a non-existent shore, only to be pulled back again. You never can win. There is no justice, and there so is no injustice. You cannot make sense of that which is senseless, you cannot apply meaning when no meaning resides. You do not comprehend this. Laugh at life, or life will laugh at you."

"Shut up." Batman fumed. "Your reasoning is as sick and twisted as you are! … I don't believe you're as unafraid as you claim!"

The Joker smiled unabashedly.

"Prove to me otherwise then, dear." He mocked. "Lest I take from you another little bird. Or maybe a cat would better suffice my apatite this time?"

The vigilante saw red, the agony of Jason's death at the hands of The Joker shot fresh in to his memories, his disgust at the threat against Selena, and his mind was then lost as he lifted the madman and swung him around with the swift determination of vengeance, smashing his thin body against another wall. And The Joker laughed.

"Oh my…" He sputtered.

Batman said nothing, jamming his forearm and elbow against the maniac's throat, pushing hard in to it. The Joker would have laughed, if the pressure on his larynx would have permitted him to do so, and he starred in to the detective's blazing eyes, his own surreally calm, despite the decreasing amount of oxygen. He did not struggle, he did not protest; the only overtly expressive feature on his face his grin, which seemed to grow wider as the weight of Batman's arm leaned heavier against him.

"D-do it, g-guano breath." He managed to whisper. "I d-double-da-re yo-u."

Batman was consumed by hatred, suddenly blinded by anger and he pressed harder still against The Joker's throat, and the madman began as best he could to laugh, the sound coming out as a wheeze rather, but still the expression was obvious.

And just as the world had begun to fade, visions of black spots having begun to dance before his eyes, the pressure was suddenly released and he fell to the ground hard, seconds later followed by Batman falling just the same, unconscious.

The Joker starred blankly for a moment, his mind confused. He had been looking, unflinching, in to the vigilante's eyes, holding his gaze there, ignoring all else around them, urging him on to the act of killing with his own eyes. He had felt so close to his goal, had Batman so near to fulfilling what he wished for him, and suddenly, it had ended, he was free of Batman's grasp, able to breath again, and upon seeing the petite feet before him, clad in red, impish shoes, he suddenly was all too aware of what had transpired. He brought his gaze up and saw Harley standing there, a ridiculous frown playing on her face, in her hands a giant mallet.

"Puddin', are you alright?!" Her whining voice asked frantically. "You looked like you was about to pass out! He was tryin' to kill ya! I can't believe it!"

Anger flashed through The Joker's eyes, though his face remained composed and he stood gingerly from his spot, now starring down at the girl dressed as a clown.

"Harley, my dear…" He spoke quietly, walking past her. She turned to watch him move by, her face twisting in confusion as he negated to finish his sentence. She looked back to Batman, lying across the pavement, and then back again to The Joker, who was now standing with his back to her, perfectly still, one hand rested against his hip, the other grasping at his long chin.

She had, at that point, only been with him a little over six months, and to say she'd had a hard time adjusting to his particular lifestyle would have been the understatement of the century. Where, inside Arkham, his mood had been consistently sweet and attentive, on the outside, it was utterly unpredictable, changing as swiftly and as often as the wind itself. She wasn't at all sure of how he was going to react; she could never accurately determine it. At times, during the pulling of some criminal exploit, in which she may have bungled the plan in some horrendously disproportionate manner, and she had been certain of his inevitable fury, he had acted as though nothing at all had gone wrong, treating her as a precious doll, delicate and calm. And at other times, when she felt as though she had done right to please him, he had reacted violently and with distain, lambasting her with the most hurtful of insults. She shuddered to think back on her first experience with him as such. She had goofed up in the simplest of ways, having brought him the wrong pair of socks. He'd asked for the ones with a black and white checkered pattern, and she had brought him ones with a multi-colored checkered pattern instead. It had been enough for him to explode, and it was then that she first tasted his wrath, and she had been very much afraid for her life. He had knocked her back with a punch to the face so swift, she hadn't even seen him move to it. Immediately her nose erupted in blood and before her head had even ceased spinning, he was upon her, lifting her by the arms and slapping her across the face two or three times. Slapped her with such force that she'd suffered apparent bruising from that alone for a week following. He'd told her what a simpering fool she was, then mumbled something about the pay off making it worth his while before leaving her in on the floor, tears streaming down her flushed and bruising face. Almost as shocking had been his treatment of her that same evening, only a few, short hours later. He acted as though nothing had happened, speaking to her in the same calm, reassuring tone he generally used, smiling and kind.

"_But Mistah J, I thought you were angry at me._" She'd questioned, her voice trembling.

"_Angry?_" He'd asked, as though confused. "_Should I be?_"

It was like he hadn't even remembered what he did, and that had put Harley off even more then the abuse itself.

Now she didn't know what to do. From what she could see, she'd just saved her Puddin's life. Surely, he couldn't be angry at her about that.

"Come Harley." He finally spoke after what seemed an eternity, not bothering to turn and face her. "It's best we get back home now."

She felt even more at a loss. Since she'd been at his side, he'd talked about almost nothing but the Batman, ranting endlessly about ways to he could humiliate and even kill him, relating nearly any subject broached to the vigilante. And now he had his chance. Batman was unconscious, totally vulnerable. And he was just going to walk away from it?

"But Mistah J, what about the Bat-freak? Ain't ya even gonna take em' with us?"

He turned then, eyeing her with an eerie silence, his bright green eyes seeming florescent in the dark of the ally.

"Home Harley." Was all he said before turning. She knew better then to argue.

It was only when they'd made it back to their hideout, an abandoned amusement park on the outskirts of the city, that she was made aware of his extreme displeasure. The moment she'd entered the dilapidated clown house, trailing closely behind him, he's spun around with that vicious speed and struck her across the face. She stumbled backward, falling hard to the floor, her head whirling in nauseating circles. She looked up and he now was standing over her, starring at her with an expression of almost curiosity. It seemed always to be the look about his face when observing someone in physical distress.

"You dullard!" He spoke. "You have no idea, do you? No concept whatsoever of how you've interfered?!"

Her eyes were wide with shock, having already filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled uncontrollably.

"Please Puddin', w-whatever it is, I-I I didn't mean to upset you." Her voice shook as she spoke, leaning back on to her hands, a knee-jerk reaction to his suddenly threatening stance.

He starred at her only a moment longer before rolling his eyes and turning away. She watched him remove his richly colored but soiled velvet jacket and toss it to the floor in disgust. His wiry frame was more apparent now, the green dress shirt and orange, silk vest he wore underneath fitting to his build perfectly, highlighting the thin waste and long torso. His black leather shoes and previously bright white spats were covered in mud and he too removed those in obvious frustration. His purple trousers were as well immersed in blood and dirt, but those he didn't bother to take off.

Harley's mind inexplicably went back to the first time she'd seen The Joker in such dress. Well, not counting the time Batman had brought him back to Arkham, when she still held her position as an interning psychiatrist there; but on the outside, when she'd finally been at his side as she now was, as Harley Quinn, accompanying him on some grand adventure out on the city streets. She'd starred in awe when he'd emerged, fully done up in imported, Italian clothing. He'd been buttoning one cuff of a silken, canary yellow shirt, his hair done up in a pompadour do, highly stylized, with not a strand out of place, an unbuttoned, green silk waistcoat hanging from his shoulders, and pinstriped, royal purple pants completing the picture. When at last he'd adorned the outfit with highly polished, fine leather loafers and still finer leather, purple gloves, he looked literally as though he had stepped from the pages of GQ magazine.

He was absolutely _gorgeous_, she thought, and it had taken considerable effort on her part to _not_ fling herself on him right then and there.

And, of course, she'd nearly creamed when, having for the first time slipped in to her harlequin outfit, face paint and all, he'd done a long, loud wolf whistle in acknowledgement. If the grease make up hadn't been applied, he would have seen her turn all shades of red in embarrassment.

Now he simply looked exhausted, his hair a tangled mess, disheveled as it always had been back at Arkahm, and he fell against an old, torn up coach they'd found left out by a dumpster of one of Gotham's more run down neighborhoods. Harley was soon to learn of The Joker's apparent distaste for the higher class parts of town. Not to say he would never go there. He would, quite often. But in his down time, when he wasn't prowling the streets like the predator he was, he seemed very much to prefer the grime laden, desolate areas of the sprawling city landscape. He was a loner; it was obvious, very much used to being by himself, always. Harley's presence seemed a bit of a disruption to him, and he very often would nearly walk straight in to her. And he _would_ have too, had she not been quick to leap from his path. Even _that_ he wouldn't take notice of, not usually. When he did, he would stare at her, curiously, sometimes for long, uneasy moments. And sometimes, he looked as though he was starring right _through_ her, and her discomfort would grow.

Another thing she'd had to adjust to was his silence. She figured, at first, that maybe it had been a product of his not being accustomed to another presence. But as the months wore on, and his muteness did not lessen, she began to realize that The Joker's monologue was almost entirely internal. He would speak at length only when prompted to do so, when he felt the need to make some point or if he was engaged in the act of intimidation or manipulation. It had shocked her because, in her sessions with him at the asylum, exempting those first three, pain stacking appointments, it seemed so long ago now, he had spoken to her endlessly, a masterful conversationalist, able to keep even the most mundane of subjects eternally fascinating. And he had been, at most times, boisterous, flamboyant and theatrical, animated and energetic. Living with him was so wholly different. From his silence, he would erupt in to laughter, and she'd asked the first few times what he was thinking. Those times he would look to her as though he'd suddenly been snapped from some dream, and then he would look away, not bothering to answer, and go about his way.

Other times, she would wake in the middle of the night to find him sitting some place in the room, sometimes gazing out the window, other times just starring ahead, at nothing it seemed. Still, his eyes never were vacant, always thoughtful, as though entrenched in some deep memory. Harley had made the mistake of once sitting up and interrupting him with her squeaky, high pitched voice.

"_What's the matter Puddin'? Can't sleep?_"

The question had been innocent enough, but his head had snapped towards her, his face contorting suddenly to a mask of hatred. It was only a moment more before he was on his feet, coming at her, and she'd shrunk back against the bed, screaming and pleading that he stop as he brought his fists down upon her. She hadn't repeated the blunder since, and she often wondered, after each such occurrence, what she had gotten herself in to. But then, he would do something unexpected and sweet, and she would remember that his hurting her was simply his way of emoting, of exercising he demons, and that she was the rock to which he could cling in those moments of obvious despair. And she would soon grow warm and fuzzy at the thought, forgetting about her own pain.

He didn't sleep. At least, that's how it seemed to her. She'd caught him dozing only a handful of times, and at those times, his eyes would abruptly open, at what appeared regular intervals. If ever he slept deeply, for any extended period, she hadn't yet seen it.

She now watched him leaning back against the tattered couch, his feet propped up on a similarly shabby ottoman and he sighed loudly. She didn't dare speak.

"You disappoint me Harley." He spoke. "You are a bad student."

She flailed about then, jumping to her feet and coming towards him frantically.

"I'm so sorry Mistah J, please forgive me!" She practically begged. "I wanna be a good student. I do!"

She came too near and The Joker reacted by kicking out hard, his foot sinking in to her stomach. She fell to the ground almost instantly, sucking in sharply at the loss of breath. He seemed not even to notice as she writhed about on the floor, in obvious pain, and continued speaking as smoothly as he had begun.

"I had him Harley. Do you not comprehend? I _had _him. He was so close to doing it! So _very_ close!"

She bit her lip, her eyes filled with tears which streamed steadily down her cheeks.

"To d-doin' what Puddin'?" She dared to ask, her voice a strained whisper, still struggling for air.

He breathed out heavily through his nose.

"To _killing _me, you dunderhead!"

She was utterly confused.

"Ya mean, you… y-you wanted him to kill you?!"

"_Yes!_" He answered pointedly, as though it should be obvious, starring at her with impatience.

She looked back, totally at a loss.

"I don't… I don't understand." She stammered.

He threw his hands up before letting them fall heavily.

"Of course you don't." He spat. "Your pea sized brain is still too attached to this ridiculous notion of survival being the quintessence of priorities."

Tears continued to stream from her eyes.

"But Puddin', why… why would ya wanna die? Aren't ya happy?"

His fists clenched tight and his teeth ground. His patience with her had worn thin long ago.

"I _knew_ you would never understand." He began angrily, though is voice remained steady and low. "I never expected you would. But I thought at _least_ I had been able to teach you never to question me, never to query my actions. Even if you cannot process the obviously infallible logic behind my philosophies, you still should be capable of appreciating them for what they are! Whether you understand or not, you still should know them to be the truth! _Why _is not important! Such thoughts should never inhabit your brain!"

Harley's lip trembled and she tried desperately to steady herself, feeling guilt ridden already for having been such a disappointment to him.

"I'm sorry." She apologized in a small voice.

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Know this Harley." He began once more, his voice menacingly quiet. "If you ever interfere between Batman and me again, if you ever encroach upon us in such a manner… I will kill you."

And with that he stood from the couch and strode past her with total disregard, making for the bathroom.

She watched in dismay as he disappeared behind the door and she heard the water begin to run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Geez, Mistah J sure was a complicated guy. He already had threatened to kill her numerous times. Heck, he'd even tried strangling her more then once, but somehow, he always stopped himself, always loosening his grip before starring at her with a thoughtful expression, as though he'd realized something that he wouldn't say, and then move off and away, going about his usual business, as though nothing had happened. He often would go days without saying one word to her, and she would begin to feel neglected, trying in various ways to gain his attention. He would always ignore her. And then, out of the blue, with no indication or a reason for why, he would sit and talk with her for hours, reminding her of the sessions they held together. He was, so strangely, the best listener she had ever encountered, though it hardly surprised her, from how perceptive and supportive he'd been with her back at Arkham, before all of this. He would sit and look pointedly at her, never diverting his gaze, never interrupting her, and she could see he was truly processing every word which came from her mouth, hearing everything she said. His eyes were deep and intelligent and she felt as though anything she talked of, anything she felt, he would understand.

Even if, as usual, he would only smile and pat her on the head when at last she had finished pouring her soul out to him, that one gesture alone consoled her more then the most renowned therapists in the world ever could, she was certain of it.

But why did she feel so guilty? She couldn't begin to explain. His abuse was brutal and he was frequently unkind to her. Yet somehow, he always made her feel as though she had been the sole cause of it, and if she had just acted accordingly, then he wouldn't have become angry, he wouldn't have struck her, and she believed him. She couldn't help but feel that her constant mishandling of everything was causing him great suffering and, as she had concluded before, his only means of exercising that anguish from him self was this; to beat her. But she had never imagined it would be so ruthless, so unforgiving. After the first few times it had happened, it had been shocking, surreal, and she hadn't been sure she could handle it; had even contemplated leaving. But then, he would always do something to warm her, or his demeanor would come off in such a way as to turn her heart to fluff, and she found herself reprimanding herself inwardly for thinking such thoughts. How could she be so selfish?! He needed her! It was obvious.

She recalled one such time, after he had served her a particularly savage pummeling, he immediately afterwards had pulled her on to his lap, rested her head against his chest and rocked her slowly, whispering softly in to her ear how amazing she was. His 'little angel', he'd said, planting soft kisses against her scalp. And again that same feeling of warmth had crept up in her, the same kind which seemed always to appear when ever he showed even the mildest interest in her. And she forgot all about how he had brought his fists and the back of his hand against her.

So now she watched the door which he had disappeared behind, listing to the running water, her mind ablaze with what he could be doing.

What he was doing was starring at him self in the mirror, as he often did. Starring in to his own eyes, and his grin was wide. He was angry that Harley had interfered, certainly, but the night had been a success, it could hardly be denied. Batman had nearly killed him! He _would_ have killed him if Harley hadn't played hero, the twit! But the point was, he knew he had pushed dear old Batsy to that point, and _that_ was the victory!

He and Harley had been walking along the narrow backstreets of Gotham's lower east bureau, he tapping his walking stick along trash cans and paper bins, twirling the thing as a baton every now and then, when they happened upon an unfortunate teenaged couple, out on a cool, Friday night, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

The Joker had spotted them well in advance of them seeing him or his so called companion, and he pointed them out to Harley with amusement, stretching his long, white finger in their direction and whispering lowly to her.

"_There Harley. Do you see them?"_

_She nodded. "Yeah Mistah J."_

"_Well we mustn't be rude." He instructed. "Let us present ourselves."_

_And with that, he latched on to Harley's arm and dragged her with him towards the two young adults. _

"_Good evening." The Joker had greeted, his smile wide, his face a flash of white against the dark of the sidewalks and buildings._

_The couple started at his voice, turning to see from whom it had come, then stopped seeing the unusually tall, thin figure before them. Following the moment it had taken their minds to register who they were looking at, their eyes grew wide and the girl immediately began to scream. Her male counterpart didn't show much more in the way of bravery or boldness and instead turned to run._

"_What ever is the hurry young man?!" The Joker had mocked, moving his stick in a swift, whirling pattern so that the thing struck the boys knee hard, bringing him effectively down. "Surely, it can't be more pressing and certainly not more appealing then a genuine meeting with moi?!" He placed a hand theatrically upon his heart and gestured upward with his other hand, giving his wrist a flick. _

_The girlfriend, meanwhile, had taken in a sharp breath and had begun screaming again. At this The Joker rolled his eyes._

"_Will you __please __be quiet!? That infernal shrieking is grating my nerves!"_

"_P-please, God, d-don't hurt us. Please!" The boy began to beg._

"_God?!" The Joker questioned, looking about him as though in search of something, before again looking down to the boy, and then he began to laugh. "Oh, me?" And he giggled. "Don't be embarrassed. You would be stunned at how often I'm met with that particular assumption. But alas, I am merely his delivery boy." And he plucked the wide brimmed hat from his head, thrusting the hand that held it back, while the other rested upon his abdomen and he bowed gracefully. _

"_And this is Harley." He waved dismissively towards the clown-clad girl to his right. "The clean-up crew."_

_The girl bolted then and The Joker looked amused._

"_Harley, make yourself useful." He instructed._

_She looked blankly up at him for a moment, not catching his meaning._

_His brows shot up and his eyes grew wide._

"_Go __get__ her!" He snapped, suddenly agitated._

"_Oh!" She yelped, jumping quickly to action and dashing after the frightened girl._

_The teenager was quickly overtaken, and dragged back, kicking and screaming. The Joker leaned forward on to his cane, watching them, and then the boy on the ground again._

"_Now…" He began. "Since we've all gotten to know each other…" And he taped his walking stick on the ground. "I think it's high time we moved forward with the nights planned proceedings. What do you say Harl?"_

"_You bet Mistah J!" She'd answered excitedly. _

"_Wonderful!" And he clasped his hands flatly together over the head of the stick before reaching within his velvet suit jacket and pulling from the inside pocket a gleaming, long barreled gun._

_Almost instantaneously, the boy and the girl began blubbering, the words 'no' and 'please' emanating persistently from their lips. Harley was having a hard time of it holding to the girl, who struggled violently against her grasp, and The Joker twirled the .45 around his long finger as though it were a toy. _

_He bent down so that he was now eye level with the boy, leaning his elbows on to his knees and leering in to the teenagers face. _

"_I'm sure Daddy instructed that you have her home by ten, my boy." He began. "And it must now be well past the witching hour." He tapped the boys face gently with the pistol._

"_Oh God, Oh God…" He murmured._

_The Joker stood abruptly._

"_This insistence of yours!" He sounded very suddenly piqued. "I wish to draw no such comparisons! Though I realize the resemblance at times is uncanny, my humility would never concede to such a likening!"_

_He pointed the .45 then and the boy began to cry and crawl pitifully away. _

"_Now don't be like that. You've only yourself to blame; disobeying your figure of authority and all!"_

_And suddenly a shot rang out and the girl began screaming so loudly that Harley flinched and The Joker grimaced at the noise._

"_Sweetheart, my goodness." He began, bringing a hand to his temple. "That noise is torturous. You must stop it at once."_

_And then, over the wailing, the faint sound of the boy's sobs was heard and The Joker looked down in mock astonishment, as Harley struggled further to hold the girl._

"_Well, will you look at that?!" He said, holding his gun up, which now was sporting a brightly colored, red flag with the word "BANG" printed boldly over it in yellow, starring at it as though in confusion._

"_Wrong gun!" _

_As he examined the thing, as if trying to figure out what had gone wrong, it fired again suddenly, and a strange quiet followed afterwards, punctuated soon by the girls persistent screaming once more._

_The boy lie now, bleeding profusely, his head having been impaled by the metal rod which held the flag, and The Joker looked upon him with a giant grin._

"_Whoops…Forgot the safety." And he tossed it aside before turning to the girl and Harley, walking quickly towards them._

_He examined the teenager, bringing his face close to her own, looking at her with scrutiny, his eyes squinting, and the girl pushed back as best she could, instinctively, her heart beating even more viciously in her chest. _

_He starred at her in this close proximity for what seemed several minutes, not saying a word, before straightening abruptly and saying,_

"_You take this one Harley, my dear."_

_She looked at him, a dumbfounded expression upon her face. And he looked back, his eyebrows lifted, as though surprised by her questioning glance._

"_Go on Harley, I won't be upset." He further instructed, suddenly taking a pack of cigarettes from out his pocket, promptly placing one between his lips and lighting it._

"_You… you mean…" Harley stammered._

"_Kill her." He spoke again, thrusting his hands forward, a little more emphasis in his tone, his impatience beginning to show. _

_The girl began to sob loudly._

"_But Puddin', I… I think maybe you sho…"_

"_Harley…" He cut her off in that quiet and measured tone which had a way of being more unsettling then the shrillest of screaming. "I would prefer if you were to handle the task."_

_Still she starred, her mouth hung open as though trying to find the words, and as it sunk in what it was he was asking her to do, her heart began to beat frantically. She had accompanied him on many outings at that point in which she had had to watch him take the life of countless unfortunates who had crossed his path, and while at first she had been sickened, bolting away and throwing up her evenings dinner following her first such witnessing, she never did question him or object. He had ignored her initial reaction, telling her to come as though nothing had occurred out of the usual, and she'd obeyed. _

_She had yet another shock to move past when she first was exposed to an unleashing of his so called 'Joker Venom' on some poor shlub who had unwittingly pushed past him on the street. Joker had reached out for him, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around, then squeezing the flower which sat perched, always, on his lapel, exuding a green gas so quickly that the man hadn't even known who or what he was facing before he began hacking and coughing violently. What followed was quite possibly the most horrific thing Harley could ever recall seeing. The man jerked and snazzier about so as to look like some mindless zombie, falling to his knees. The Joker spoke to him, but Harley hadn't caught what he said, so transfixed was she on the man's sputtering and violent motion, his arms wrapped tightly about his stomach, his frame hunched over, his shoulders heaving. And very soon following, to her absolute disturbance, the man began to giggle, giggle madly, and shortly it grew to a laughter so loud as to only be surpassed by The Joker's himself. It was an uncontrolled, uninhibited cackling, taking precedence over inhalation even, and just as suddenly as the laughter had erupted from the man's throat, he at once stiffened, his face pulled to a ridiculous, gum-bearing grin, pulled all the way back over his teeth and up along his cheeks, his eyes bulging, and he fell to his side, dead. _

_The Joker had stood unmoving from where he had sprayed the gas, observing with an unnatural calm. And once the man had stopped struggling and it was very obvious he had expired, The Joker then threw his head back and released a guttural laugh. _

_Yet even that, Harley had now grown accustomed to, no longer shaken by its brutality. _

_But what he was asking now? Asking __her__ to kill? She hadn't ever dreamed it would be something she would have to do. It wasn't something she thought she __could__, despite having seen it done so many times already._

_The Joker leaned closer to her now. _

"_It would make me so happy." He whispered in her ear._

_And then he stepped back._

"_You do want to make me happy, don't you?" And his face fell in to a frown, his eyes growing big, his brow knotting together, giving him a sad, puppy dog expression._

"_M-more then anythin' Mistah J." She answered._

_He grinned._

"_Good." He took a long drag off his cigarette. "You have your gun." He looked to the small purse slung across her shoulder and chest. _

"_I-it's taken all I got to hold her though Mistah J, I don't think I can…"_

"_Oh, give her to me then." He quickly suggested, tossing his cigarette to the ground and reaching for the still struggling girl, ripping her from Harley's arms. He held her tight, wrapping one arm across her throat, while yanking her own behind her back and twisting it to the point of excruciating pain. She cried out, now unable to move at all, The Joker easily overpowering her. And he looked now at Harley with expectancy. _

_She fumbled at the latch of her purse, her hands visibly shaking._

"_Come along Harley!" The Joker snapped impatiently. "The night awaits us."_

_She finally managed to pull the gun from her bag, starring at it dumbly for several seconds, jarred by The Joker barking her name and telling her to hurry up again._

_Slowly she brought the pistol up, the weapon wobbling about with her nerves._

"_Now aim right my dear. You wouldn't want the bullet to miss its intended target." He reminded her calmly._

_Harley swallowed hard._

"_Aren't cha gonna get outta the way?!" Her voice trembled._

_He laughed. _

"_No sweetness. The caliber isn't powerful enough to penetrate past her brain. I'll be perfectly fine, provided you don't miss." And he smiled widely._

_Considering how much she was shacking, any one else would have been scared for their life. But one thing Harley had learned about her Puddin' was that, he hadn't been lying when he'd told her he was fearless. Nothing scared him. She'd already seen him stare down the barrel of a gun more times then she cared to remember, and he'd only laughed. Of course, that always was enough to put whoever held the weapon off, long enough for him to relieve them of it before turning it on them and pulling the trigger without the slightest hint of hesitation. He'd told her more then once that it was people's fear that caused them to hesitate, and that fear was their undoing, that it was the very thing which got them killed. So far, he'd been proven right. _

_So she steadied herself as best she could, her mouth going suddenly dry. She didn't want to look at the girl, but she couldn't look away for fear of hitting her Puddin', so she kept her eyes fixed on the target._

_Her mind raced with anxiety and doubt, sweat breaking out across her forehead as her finger lay against the trigger. Her breath quickened and she was sure she was hyperventilating. _

"_Come on Harley." She heard The Joker say again softly, though barely intelligible over the girls screams. And in the next instant she pressed down, her eyes squeezing shut involuntarily, the bang erupting in her ears. And the next sound she heard was Mistah J's laughter, followed by the sight of him, covered in the girl's blood. He dropped her dead body to the ground, removing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping daintily at his face and shirt with it. _

Shortly thereafter, the Batman had come, not 20 minutes later, and he was furious. He took Harley out as though she were a minor annoyance blocking his path, had barely even looked her way, keeping his eyes on his arch nemesis almost entirely. Whatever attempts she had made in obstructing him from his goal had failed miserably. The Joker, meanwhile, had become, as he always was when the Bat came, overcome with excitement, whopping and hollering about how glad he was to see the vigilante. But Batman didn't seem to share the sentiment, taking immediately to thrashing and pummeling the madman with a vengeful ferocity.

Damn it, if the little tramp just hadn't woken up and lobbed the big galut on the back of the head, sure, he would be dead most probably, but he would have taken Batsy's soul in the process! That was all that mattered! He could almost cry with the frustration of having come so close. The Dork Knight obviously hadn't hit the nincompoop hard enough! Probably some further misguidance on his part, thinking it was somehow wrong to be as hard on a girl as on a boy. Now he would just have to make up for the crazies lack of commitment.

He shut the faucet off, having washed his face clean. He needed a shower, but that could wait. He wondered what the Bat was doing. He must have woken up by now. No doubt guilt ridden over what he'd _almost_ done, conflict raging in his heart, questioning himself and his values. God, it must truly pang to be him, The Joker thought, laughing.

When at last he emerged from the room, he glanced Harley curled up on the couch, looking pitiful as usual. His eyes rolled. He didn't think he could bear her moping tonight, so he put on his biggest smile and strode toward her.

She didn't notice him there until he was half way across the room and she started slightly at his appearance.

"H-hiy Mistah J." She stammered.

"Hello Harley." He continued smiling, reaching her quickly. She watched as he sat beside her, stretching his long legs out on to the ottoman, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to him.

She starred at him expectantly and he looked back to her.

A short while past, and he said nothing, and finally she gained the courage to speak.

"A-are ya still mad at me Mistah J?" She spoke unsteadily.

His face contorted to a frown, his brow creasing.

"Mad? Why ever would you think me mad?" And he then laughed uproariously at the irony of the statement.

Harley looked confused. She didn't get it.

The Joker stopped, eyeing her, before sighing.

"Whatdoya say we go out to a movie Harley-girl?" He changed the subject.

She squealed suddenly, a high pitched sound which caused The Joker to furrow his brow.

"Ohh, would I Puddin'!" She practically leaped in to his lap.

He nearly threw her off in disgust, but resisted the urge.

"Alright then Harley, go slip in to something more felicitous, and we'll be on our way."

He watched as she practically skipped towards their make-shift bedroom, and he felt suddenly murderous. She was so easily pleased, and somehow, that caused him agitation.

She stopped abruptly before reaching the door and spun round to face him.

"Aren't you gonna put some new cloths on too Mistah J?" She asked, seeing he still had on the same outfit as from earlier.

His eyes glimmered as he only starred back, wordless. She took that as a sign she shouldn't ask anything further and instead slipped quietly in to the next room.

When at last she emerged, she saw that he had found a new suit, dark blue this time. It looked to be silk, with a forest green silk waistcoat and purple shirt made from cotton, a deep red tie to compliment. His feet were clad in shined, black leather dress shoes, and worn over those, as always, were his white, leather spats. He was sitting on the couch, twirling between his large hands, fitted as they usually were in fine, kid leather gloves, dark blue, a likewise dark blue, broad brimmed hat with a purple band, watching the motion intently. His hair was combed straight back with water, without the gel he usually put in. He appeared fresh, and had obviously taken a shower.

That was her Mistah J! Always dressed to impress!

She felt inadequate in her dark blue denim jeans and silk blouse with knee high, leather heeled boots. But then, she always felt less then enough next to him.

He looked up and smiled, one of those boyish grins she saw less of these days. He usually was leering and maniacal.

"Well, let's have at it, shall we?" He spoke softly, standing from his position and striding towards her, his gloved hand held outward for her to take.

She beamed. Mistha J could be awful mean, but when he was nice, it was like Prince Charming come a calling on his magnificent white steed! She wrapped her dainty arm around his own, and they made for the city.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

It was early in the morning. 3:45 AM to be exact, and the only cinema houses open at that hour had been adult themed. The Joker, needless to say, had been less than pleased, ranting and raving, more to himself then to Harley, as they walked along the barren side walks in the middle of downtown. He had zero interest in seeing 'such nauseating tripe', as he had put it. The man at the ticket box had turned almost as white as The Joker himself upon seeing him and "his girl" step up.

"_Pardon my intrusion Sir…" The Joker had begun. "But may I ask what films are showing?"_

_The slightly overweight, scraggily haired man, whose name tag read 'Bill' had stuttered._

"_Uh, uh, um, well… uh"_

_The Joker leaned down on to the counter, looking Bill in the eye now._

"_The films… __Bill__. What films are showing?" He asked again, his voice showing slight irritation._

_Bill was visibly shaking now, his eyes wide with fright._

"_P-p-pussy galore: T-The R-Revenge. "B-b-bottom's U-up" a-a-and "M-m-midnight a-at the v-velvet e-e-express…" _

_The Joker stood straight._

"_What sort of film are these? I haven't heard of them." He asked, sounding genuinely confused._

"_Uh… Mistah J, I think…"_

_He waved her off._

"_Be __quiet__ Harley. I want Bill to answer my question."_

"_T-there ad-adult films S-sir." Bill stuttered._

_The Joker looked incredulous. _

"_Adult__… films?" He questioned, with obvious contempt in his voice. "How vulgar."_

"_P-please Mr. J-Joker, sir, d-don't kill m-me. I-I just sell th-the tickets." Bill began to beg._

"_Ah, but by willingly offering the sale of admission to such an artless and mundane waste of cellulite, you become as culpable as the baboons responsible for producing it in the first place." He argued, and as the man began to stumble all over himself, trying to say how that didn't make any sense, The Joker simply pulled out a gun and shot him, point blank, in the face._

"_Idiot." He said, before turning, Harley following closely behind._

After complaining bitterly for what seemed the next ten blocks, The Joker began to sulk, falling quiet, his head bowed.

That was another thing Harley had learned in spending every day with him. He wasn't _always_ in good spirits, as he had appeared to be back at Arkham, when they had their sessions together. In fact, she found he often fell in to these states of contemplative quiet. He would grow somber, wouldn't laugh, wouldn't crack jokes, as he usually did. The strangest part, Harley came to realize, was the sadness he had about him at these times. He _looked_ sad, his face fell in to a kind of frown, his eyes seeming to shine as though on the verge of tears, so totally opposite of what expression he usually held.

And Harley would never forget. Nearly three months ago now. She had walked in on him, in the bedroom. Trotted in, really. He liked always for her to be jolly. If she wasn't, well, he would become displeased. So even when feeling unwell, Harley tried her best to act upbeat. So the shock was something great when she saw him, sat at the edge of the bed, with tears streaming down his face. His expression wasn't contorted, his brow didn't crease and his mouth wasn't twisted in to a frown. He was, essentially, a blank slate, but with tears falling from his eyes, in what seemed rapid succession.

Harley, of course, had been utterly confused, and then distressed. Never had she imagined she would find The Joker in such a state; she didn't imagine him ever expressing his emotion in that way, and she then didn't hesitate to make her way towards him.

"_Puddin'?" She began in a small voice._

_He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her presence; didn't seem to even notice she was there. He just starred ahead, blankly._

_She walked gingerly forward, closer to him._

"_Are you alright Mistah J?" She asked again, and this time he looked at her, and finally his face showed expression as his brow furrowed and he seemed suddenly confused._

_She looked back, not sure of what she should do._

"_Harley." He had said her name softly. "Get out of here."_

_His voice was disturbingly calm, and he spoke in a whisper._

"_But Mistah J, why are you crying?" She persisted. It was a mistake to do so._

_He stood suddenly and came towards her quickly. She thought for certain he was going to strike her and she instinctively shrunk back, her hands going up over her head in a defensive motion. But he just stood in front of her, looking down in to her face, the tears still glistening in his eyes._

"_Harley." He said again. "You need to leave me be now." _

_She starred up at him and realized that, in that moment, he was perhaps more deadly serious then ever she had seen him._

"_If you do not…" He started again. "I promise you absolutely, you will be dead tonight."_

_And with that he turned from her and walked to the window, looking out in to the night. Harley knew he meant it, she could see the intent in his eyes, he wasn't trying to mask it, and she hadn't been foolish enough to stick around._

She'd seen tears in his eyes only once since then, of course excluding the times when he laughed so hard he cried, which occurred often. The second time had been maybe a month previous to the present, and the situation had been the same. Harley did not make the mistake of addressing him this time, but simply sat outside the room, watching him through the door. He must have known she was there. Mistha J knew everything that went on around him. He never missed anything. Yet he didn't respond or react to her, he didn't tell her she couldn't watch him. So she sat there, silently, and watched as he looked ahead without expression, with seemingly no emotion save for the tears falling down his face. And he kept in this state for nearly an hour until at last, he snapped out of it, the tears vanished and he stood, acting as jolly and carefree as he always did.

She couldn't figure him, at all. She wondered what was going through his mind at those times, what could actually cause The _Joker_ to cry. And it was a strange sort of sorrow. No one ever would have guessed he was feeling anything at all if those tears hadn't been there, so clearly running from his eyes. She of course never asked, for fear he may react violently. Though, unpredictable he was. He could fly off the handle about something one moment and then the next, over the very same thing, act utterly un-phased, content, even. His mind , obviously, was vastly complex. Of course, anyone with an IQ as high as his own would act irregularly and in ways which seemed odd and uncanny to others.

Harley couldn't hope to ever understand or grasp fully what was in his head or why he did the things he did. Somehow, deep down, she knew this, but she tried not to dwell on the fact, pretending instead that she was, for Mistah J, his soul mate, that they were meant for each other as deemed by the heavens. That he needed her as she needed him.

"Well, how's about we get some dinner Puddin'?" She suggested.

He kept walking ahead, her struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"Sound's acceptable." He answered after a moment of silence.

"Great!" She squeaked. "I know a great little 24 hour joint just a few blocks up from here!"

The joy she felt at having suggested something appealing to him was more then words could describe.

"Well, then, lead the way honey-cakes." He said, pointing his walking stick forward.

She bounded beside him, boldly taking hold of his arm and pressing on towards the restaurant. He didn't seem to mind and allowed him self to be lead.

When they arrived, it was just past four in the morning, and there was a man inside the brightly lit, what appeared to be hamburger and ice cream parlor, wiping down the counter. He was dressed like someone out of the 1950s and The Joker was greatly intrigued, wondering why it was he had never come upon this place. He knew many of the downtown restaurants and café's, frequenting them regularly. Of course, the staff would routinely fall all over themselves to make sure he was well looked after, and the other patrons were awfully sweet, making for him all the space he required!

"You're gonna love it Puddin'!" The enthusiastic girl on his arm exclaimed. "The food here's just _great_!"

As they entered, a small bell placed above the door rung out, a tinkling little sound to alert that customers had arrived. The man at the counter didn't look up from his work and Harley and The Joker walked to the stools lined along the bar, sitting promptly.

The Joker's eyes scanned the menu, which hung above the stove, written out in chalk against a black board. To their right was a display of various selections of ice cream behind a shining, clear glass window, and Harley practically squealed upon seeing it.

"Would you like some ice cream?" The Joker asked.

"I sure would Mistah J!"

He smiled.

"Then choose a flavor dear."

She didn't need to be told twice as she practically skipped to the display case.

"Coffee, eggs and toast please." The Joker spoke to the man.

"All's we got right now is hash browns an' some left ovah' pastries. The breakfast menu ain't available 'till six." The man didn't bother to look up.

The Joker starred at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Coffee, eggs and toast. That is what I want." He said again, using the same, measured tone.

The man sighed in obvious irritation, slapping his rag down.

"Look man, I just said that breakfast ain't ser…" He looked up and his eyes immediately grew wide and his face went pale.

"J-Jesus Christ." He began to stutter, backing away.

The Joker bore straight in to him with his eyes.

"Coffee… eggs… and toast." He said again. "And my girl over there would like some ice cream. So hop to it, will you?"

The man began to stumble about.

"Y-y-yes sir. Ri-right away sir."

The Joker watched as he tripped over himself trying to get all the necessary ingredients together, his hands visibly shaking.

There were few things in this world that excited The Joker more thoroughly then seeing the fear he caused in people through his presence alone, and he chuckled softly to himself at the sight. The man, before, was a hypocrite, as so many people were, and a bad liar. Anything to get out of a little work. It was people like him, The Joker thought, that made the world so unpleasant.

The food was prepared in what seemed record time and clumsily placed on a plate before him.

He didn't say anything, but kept his eyes on the man, who couldn't hold his gaze.

And as though it suddenly occurred to him, he quickly produced a clean set of silver wear, placing it on the counter.

The Joker began to eat then, quietly.

"Hey, ya big lug nut!" Harley abruptly called. "Whaddabout my ice cream!?"

The man jumped at her voice and hurried over quickly.

"Y-y-yes maim. W-what kind would you l-like?"

"Pasticcio! And make it quick!"

The Joker smiled to him self, taking a sip from his coffee. Harley had learned a few things well. She certainly would no longer tolerate anyone's defiance or what she perceived to be a slight. She had even learned to become downright violent since they'd gotten together. Funny, so different from the prim and proper young girl he first met. Though he always knew that to be a ruse.

The man struggled to scoop the ice cream from the large bucket and place it on a waffle cone, but somehow he managed. He handed the thing to the bubbly yet ill tempered girl and stepped back, watching as she licked it in the manner you would think a 7 year old would, hopping over to The Joker and jumping giddily on to the stool beside him.

This was too bizarre.

"Did you get your favorite flavor, darling?" He asked, looking her in the face.

She nodded vigorously, still lapping the desert on to her tongue.

"Is there anything else you would like?"

She shook her head.

"No. This is great Puddin'."

He nodded, standing quickly and pulling a $50.00 bill from his pocket, tossing it on the counter.

"For your trouble." He said to the man. "Come along Harley."

And he began towards the door, placing his hat back on his head.

The man watched, bemused, as the couple exited, then eyed suspiciously the $50.00 left on the counter. The meal at most would have cost $15.00.

"That… That was the fuckin' _Joker_." He whispered to himself in disbelief. "Jeeze, wait'll the guys hear this. They'll never believe it."

By the time they got back to their hideout, the sun had already begun to rise and Harley felt like she was going to collapse. Keeping up with The Joker was a full time job, she was finding out. She felt far more exhausted and taxed then she ever had in her entire life, even when she had been in grad school.

She expected, like her, he would go straight to bed, but instead he strode to a back room where he kept his chemicals and beakers and other scientific mumbo jumbo. She never knew what he was doing back there. He would spend hours pouring one chemical in to another, mixing liquids as brightly colored as kool-aid, tweaking and twisting wires. More then once she's heard a loud explosion and had run in, panicking, thinking he had just blown himself up. But she only ever found him, sitting calmly at his work station, some smoking hole across from him, on the other side of the room.

He had told her recently that he was working on a new poison, one which, in his words would "surely cause much unrest among the city's appointed and smugly entitled leaders and enforcers." She'd asked him what it did, and he had hastily explained something about causing the blood to congeal while at the same time increasing the rate at which the heart pumps, in affect, achieving an unsupportable strain on the veins, eventually causing them to rupture. And, of course, as he engineered all his poisons to do, the same, paralysis inducing compound, forcing the face in to an unnatural smile upon death.

He was brilliant, and she looked upon him in total awe.

She found herself wondering how it was he knew when one of his creations had been perfected, and she found out one day, not a week ago.

Whenever The Joker was getting ready to pull a job, something which would require more then one man to accomplish, he would put out word that he was looking to hire. Harley noticed the inordinately high payoff's he offered. He apparently was quite wealthy, though he spent what he had and threw it away as though it were meaningless. She saw him once toss a huge sack of money they'd just acquired from a bank heist in to a fire. Bemused, she asked him why he had done it, and he answered simply that it made him laugh.

On this particular day, not a week ago, she'd learned both why he paid his hired goons so much and how he knew when something he'd been working tirelessly on was, indeed, ready for use.

In his best sing song voice, The Joker had called Rob to him. Rob was one of the nicer, more subdued henchmen around, known for his reliability. Harley had gotten to liking him and often held long, thoughtful conversations with the burley, middle aged man.

"Take a whiff if this Robby." The Joker had said as the hireling moved towards him, and before Rob could even process his meaning, The Joker had sprayed a yellow gas in to his face.

"What the hell!" He coughed and hacked, waving his hand before him, trying to clear the air. But it was too late, he'd already inhaled.

"What… what did you just do?!" Rob began to ask frantically.

"You'll see." The Joker spoke calmly. "Just relax."

But relaxing in such a state, Rob was soon to find out, was a total impossibility.

Only seconds past before the man began screaming, sounding like some dying animal, his voice coming out with utter abandon. Moments later he would be on the floor, his arms wrapped around himself, his face contorted in pain.

Harley and the other two hirelings watched in horror as Rob's eyes bulged and his lips twisted in to a hideous grin, a solid, red substance pouring from his mouth and nose, and all at once, he stopped struggling, and he went stiff, falling dead to his side.

The room fell silent for several moments, all eyes on the now unmoving henchmen. The trance was broken only by The Joker's ever soft voice.

"It appears to be a success then, hmm kiddies?" He asked.

They stared at him, gap-mouthed.

"Hmm Kiddies!?" He asked again, more sternly this time.

They nodded dumbly and he smiled, walking to Rob, pushing him over on to his back with his foot, starring down at him before telling someone to "clean this up" in a disinterested tone, and going again to the back.

So despite feeling lonely, Harley knew better then to question when he would be coming to bed. In all likelihood, he wouldn't be coming at all. Most nights were spent like this. Well, most mornings. They rarely came back to the hideout and _stayed_ until it nearly was sun up.

"Night Puddin'!" She called out.

He kept walking.

"Good morning Harley." He said, closing the door behind him.

Batman paced feverishly along the cold stone of the cave, his hands clasped behind his back, his mind racing with anxiety. He'd woken in confusion, what events transpiring to the situation having become a blur, and it would be several moments more before he was at last able to remember what had happened. He'd had The Joker, pinned against a wall, pressing into his throat with his forearm, pressing with all his strength. And he recalled The Joker's still smiling face, his unnaturally focused and calm eyes, despite the impending threat of unconsciousness… Of death.

Jesus, he's almost _killed_ the madman! Again! How many times now? How many times had he allowed that lunatic to so infiltrate his mind so as to drive him towards the one act he deemed undoable? He loathed the situation. The Joker repeatedly would claim that _everyone_ was capable of killing, given the right circumstance, given enough incentive, even the great Dark Knight himself. Batman refused to believe it so. The notion that everyone had in them that instinct, that they naturally were drawn towards committing such an act was, to him, unthinkable, and it was why he held so steadfast to his rule of never engaging in any such conduct. Yet on nights like last night, when he'd come so close to doing it, when it seemed, in all likelihood, if some external force hadn't stopped him, he _would_ have done it, the vigilante couldn't help but fear The Joker was right. He had always managed to stop himself from committing before, or, as again last night occurred, something or someone outside himself had prevented the act. But that was beside the point. The one thing Batman could remember most clearly was what he'd _felt_. And what he'd felt was the lust for blood. That was the only way he could describe it. He had _wanted_, with a desire so strong it felt like a fire raging, to crush the maniacs throat, to hold his dead, limp body in his hands and throw him unceremoniously into a dumpster some place, in to a trash heap, where he belonged. He had wanted that more passionately in that moment then he had ever wanted anything. And in moments like that, he knew The Joker _was_ right. That he _was_ capable of it, despite not wanting to believe it.

The only thing which kept them separate was Batman's willingness to fight the urge, as opposed to The Joker's willingness to embrace it. The thought made the vigilante physically ill. The thought that he could have anything in common with that demented bastard absolutely nauseated him.

"_But that's all that matters, isn't it Bruce?_" He told himself. "_It doesn't matter how miniscule the thing that separates you is, as long as it separates you_."

That was what The Joker wanted. He knew that. He wanted badly to make Batman just like him, to make them fully the same. Whenever they were faced against each other, he would rant endlessly about how truly similar they were. About how they were more alike then unalike, how they were the only two people in the entire world who could relate to the other, understand the other; about how, in their differences their similarities lay. That was a favorite line of his. But Batman would never allow it. It didn't matter the parallels The Joker saw in them, it didn't matter if even those parallels existed. All that mattered was what kept them, ultimately, essentially, opposite.

And Batman knew, despite his obvious psychosis, how intelligent The Joker actually was, how powerfully perceptive he was. He, in fact, was certain he had never met anyone with such keen abilities of observation and psychological deduction as The Joker possessed and he knew that the madman must have determined the vigilante would never, _truly_ commit to killing him. That he would always withhold the urge, no matter how strong it became, if he truly wanted to hold together, to hold on to who he was. And Batman began to wonder again about The Joker's seeming fearlessness. About his all too apparent willingness to die in order to see someone reduced to his level, more specifically to see the vigilante reduced to his level. He acted like he wanted Batman to do it, to kill him, that it would be his ultimate accomplishment if he were to drive The Dark Knight to the act. But he must also have known that, because it _was_ the only thing keeping them apart, he would never do it. No matter what. And maybe that lack of fear was a front, Batman thought. Maybe The Joker wasn't as unafraid as he presumed to be, knowing deep down he never, _reall_y had to worry about getting what he claimed to so want.

"If only that lunatic could know _real_ fear, could feel a little of something that others feel when they encounter him…" Batman said to himself quietly, thinking… "_If he thought he was actually going to die, would that change anything in him?_"

The vigilante looked down, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenching involuntarily. He had to do something! He couldn't just keep this cycle going. He couldn't continue to capture the maniac only to have him escape again and kill. Yet he couldn't bring him self to end The Joker's life either, knowing it would shatter everything he stood for. But maybe… maybe if his enemy was faced with the prospect of his death being real, if he just _thought _it, maybe then he would stop pushing so hard for it, and maybe… maybe it would give him pause to consider before taking a life himself.

Maybe…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

"Hey Mistha J!"

Harley practically skipped out to the main living area of their dilapidated funhouse, her buoyant personality as always on display. The only reply to her greeting was the echoing giving off by the large space, and she looked about her for any sign of her life's love.

There was none.

"Mistah J?" She called out again, moving across the room.

"_Maybe he went out?_" She thought, her face suddenly contorting to a frown. "He bettera' not of moved again without tellin' me!" She spat quietly.

Harley had, more then once, awoken to her Puddin' having changed locations, just up and leaving, telling her nothing of his plans. At those times, she'd had to track him down, which was _never _an easy task. The only way she was ever able to find him was by asking around the underground connections she had made over those last six months. Sometimes she would be searching for weeks before discovering his new hideout, and when at last she did, striding in, all in a rage, he would look up from whatever he had been doing, sometimes stare at her blankly, sometimes smile, and always say "Hello Harley.", in that quiet voice, as though there was nothing unusual about the scene. She would let her annoyance show for a brief period, sulking and answering him, if even he spoke to her, in snippy and agitated tones. Once she had made the mistake of dragging on in this behavior for several hours, and he had become terribly displeased, showing her exactly why such attitude on her part was never acceptable. Since then, she'd somehow managed to rationalize his leaving so abruptly as just another in a long list of his personality quirks, and grown to accept it without making her disconcertion apparent, though she still felt angry and hurt whenever the situation presented itself.

So she continued to move through the hideout, calling out his name every few seconds. No reply was forthcoming and her heart began to sink as the prospect of him, indeed, having left became a greater possibility.

Yet she did notice, on the couch, his tailored suit jacket and fedora from earlier that morning. Surely he would have taken those with him. He prided himself on how well dressed he was and, while he didn't necessarily _care_ if he lost or ruined an outfit, he liked at all times to have with him nice cloths. He was concerned, always, with looking sharp. If one thing were able to fluster him, Harley learned, it was being unable to dress finely.

It gave her hope that maybe he'd just fallen asleep in his room of chemicals, though that too seemed unlikely. Every day she had been with him, he had always been awake when at last she rose.

"Puddin'?" She said in a small voice, pushing the door to the room open slowly. Her eyes went wide and a gasp escaped her throat when she saw the place in total ruin. Beakers and bottles broken and on their sides, the table flipped over, various objects thrown about.

At first she thought maybe Mistah J had trashed the place in a fit of rage. His moods were unpredictable and anything seemed able to set him off. She began to walk about, glancing in discomfort at the broken glass and liquids on the floor. She halted and yet another gasp came when she saw blood smeared across the far end corner of the overturned work desk, running freely from there on to the tile below, trailing across the floor to the other side of the room.

Something had happened. Something bad. A struggle of some kind. Why hadn't she heard anything? She was a heavy sleeper, sure, but from the looks of things here, the noise would have woken the dead.

Maybe her Puddin' had killed someone, okay, and he was out now getting rid of the body. She would wait for him, see if he came back.

And so she did. But as the hours dragged on, there came no sign of him, and Harley's mind began to race furiously with differing scenarios. Someone had taken him! It was the only thing she could think. But who would be _crazy _enough to kidnap The Joker?! Who even _could _kidnap him?! He was the _worst _kind of nasty. Unless he _wanted_ you to attack him, you couldn't even get within an in… Her eyes shot wide. Batman! It had to have been the big galoot!

But then… if it had been, why hadn't he taken her too?

She ran to the television, flipping frantically through the channels until she came upon a news station, waiting with hopeful expectancy to hear that The Joker had been returned to Arkham. Instead she was met with the anchor reporting her Puddin' still at large. She flipped it off in disgust, despising the way the ignorant fools spoke about both him and her, with all this contempt and misunderstanding!

She felt suddenly overcome by grief and worry, falling to her knees, tears springing to her eyes. _Batman_ was the one who was _mad_! He would have killed Mistah J last night if she hadn't stopped him. She was sure of it! She _had _to find them… before it was too late.

"WAKE UP!" The Joker was jarred from unconsciousness by a hard slap across the face and the harsh sound of a voice screaming.

His eyes opened, slowly, and filled with blurred images. Nothing unusual there. He often found himself waking from long states of unconsciousness, and it always took several minutes before his vision became completely clear again.

Trying to move, he found himself unable. Nothing unusual there either. Generally he awoke bound by straight jackets or cuffs.

As his vision began to focus, the events which lead to everything going black began to come back and almost immediately he began to laugh, in the same instant Batman stepping in to view.

"Wow Batsy, what a whopping you put on me this time." He giggled, licking his lips, splitting the drying cut, making it fresh again. As he became more cognizant of his surroundings, he realized he was bound to a chair, his hands tied behind his back, his feet roped to the seats legs.

He leaned back, looking up at the looming figure standing before him, his eyes squinting against a bright light overhead.

"So what gives guano-breath? I'm not in Arkham, am I?"

"No." Batman said, coldly, curtly.

The Joker looked about himself.

"Saaaay, this isn't the batcave… is it?!" He asked excitedly.

Batman said nothing.

""You wouldn't be foolish enough to bring me to your secret place… unless of course, you had a special reason." He grinned, his eyes narrowing suddenly, starring intently at the vigilante.

"How did you find me anyway? We left you in a heap on the ground, if I recall correctly."

"I have my ways." Batman answered.

"Ohhh! Secretes!" The Joker straightened. "Well, it can't have been one of those obnoxious tracking devices you're always slapping on to some poor shlubs cloths. I would have found that." He continued to smile. "How about, then, that incomparable power of will you posses, combined with your world renowned detective skills? Harley and I did leave a somewhat blatant trail after abandoning you in, if I do say, a rather unflattering state. To think! It could be you now in this position, rather then myself, if only I'd listened to that silly girl! More then likely though, you found one of those deplorably unreliable goons I've hired in the last few weeks. They never could keep their mouths shut. I suppose now I'll just have to kill whoever it was."

Batman scoffed, loudly.

"You won't get the chance Joker. Not this time."

The Joker smiled.

"Mmmm." He began. "Well, certainly, the intended destination isn't dear old Arkham. Not tonight." He eyed the vigilante. "Let me guess, see if I'm able to ascertain your ultimate aim."

"You talk too much Joker." Batman said, swinging out suddenly, viciously with a clenched fist, slamming in to The Joker's temple with heavy impact.

The room spun in dizzying circles, the madman's vision suddenly double, a strange, tingling sensation running down the side of his face. He began to laugh.

"Beating a man bound to a chair!" He chuckled. "I do believe we become more alike every day Bat-boob! Not very original though. Isn't this how what's his name exacted his revenge as well? Oh, why can't I ever remember these sorts of things? Johnny or Jimmy or… Jason! That's it! I swear, you'd think beating someone with a heavy metal object repeatedly for a good solid minute and then blowing them sky high with eight pounds of C-4 would be enough to ensure their death, but you and those little tweets display remarkable ability in slipping aw…"

He was stopped mid-sentence by another blow, even harder this time, his nose exploding with blood.

The Joker shook his head.

"You won't get your chance, he says. Not…"

Another blow.

The room really was spinning now, spots of white invading his vision. He could feel a welt forming under his right eye.

"So, Batman…" He began, looking up. "My guess is, either you intend to cripple me severely, maim me so that I might never maim again, that sort of thing, or you've brought me here to kill me, which would, of course, lend greater assurance to the accomplishment of your goal." He laughed. "You know me, hard to keep down." He watched the vigilante with careful eyes. "Or…"

Again he was cut off, Batman this time striking him with the back of a gauntleted hand. The Joker's face was fast becoming a crimson mask, his eyes beginning to swell shut rapidly, the familiar taste of blood filling his mouth.

"Can't you hit any harder darling?" He laughed. "How ever do you expect to elicit a fresh and exciting reaction if the tactics used are the same as always?"

"You have no idea the sort of pain I can inflict on you." Batman growled.

The Joker chortled.

"Oh, I think I have some clue. You are, after all, speaking to the master of such fare."

"No." Batman said. "You have no idea how it feels to be on the receiving end."

The Joker's brow furrowed and he starred, unblinking, in to the vigilantes eyes.

"And how, may I ask, would you know what I have and have not experienced? As well as I can tell, you don't know a damn thing about me. Despite all your grand skill in uncovering clues and piecing together past and circumstance, you haven't been able to find out a thing of who I am or who I was. You haven't a clue, sweetheart. So, best be careful what you claim."

Batman came close to the madman's face.

"I know because you wouldn't do it to others if you knew what it _felt_ like."

The Joker threw his head back and began to laugh harshly.

"Oh, is that what you believe pumpkin? Do you really, _really_ believe that?" He continued to giggle madly. "What delusion! What ridiculous, idealistic naivety!"

Batman eyed him coldly, and The Joker stopped laughing abruptly, starring back.

"You don't _know_ anything, dear." He began again. "It merely is a belief. Something you have to tell yourself so that your sense of _purpose_ isn't rendered negligible. _All _people have good in them, no one is _born_ bad, is that right cupcake? Good? What does that word even mean? Socially acceptable? Regarded generally as a desirability? You're so sure that if I knew how it felt to be tortured and maimed, my life threatened, that I wouldn't do what I do? That I would come magically to some realization that it's _wrong _to hurt people?"

"You've never thought you were going to die." Batman countered. "Not really. You've always known I wouldn't kill you."

The Joker leered at him.

"Again with your silly and baseless assumptions." He said. "I've faced death a thousand times, often with you as witness. How audacious of you to presume knowledge of my thoughts! You think you've unraveled the mind of a madman? You haven't the slightest notion of where to begin."

"If you cared so little for your own life, you would be dead by now Joker."

"Purely a matter of circumstance, doll-face. People die every day from some unforeseeable factor, people who try everything within their power to ensure the preservation of their lives. And then there are people who, every day, find themselves placed on a path of near certain death, and yet live to well ripened ages. Death is random, undiscerning and indiscriminant. By probability, I should have been dead a long time ago. All those times I've been shot and stabbed, thrown off building tops and in to vats of toxic chemicals, hit by cars or brutally beaten!" He laughed. "But by chance, I'm still here. Lucky for you!" The Joker answered, grinning. "Though, I must admit, I prefer that the privilege of offing the greatest criminal mastermind of our time be reserved solely for you. It seems fitting, don't you think?"

Batman lashed out, grabbing The Joker by the collar of his shirt and lifting him, still tied to the chair, off the ground.

"I'm going to kill you Joker." He said. "First I'm going to torture you so that by the end, you'll wish for death to end your suffering, and then I'm going to give it to you."

At this The Joker began a low, guttural laugh and Batman swung him hard to his right, releasing him so that he and the chair went crashing with great impact in to the cold stone of the floor.

"Oof…" The crash only momentarily halted The Joker's giggling before he began again.

He could hear Batman walking quickly towards him, his cape rusting along the ground, and as he felt himself again being lifted, he began to speak to the vigilante.

"Did I ever tell you the story of my childhood?" He asked.

Batman again tossed him across the floor, and The Joker landed with a thud on to his left shoulder, and he was certain from the impact that his collar bone had broken.

"I've heard all your sob stories Joker." Batman spit, lifting him again, placing him down upright this time.

The Joker looked up at him, grinning, blood pouring heavily from his nose and mouth.

"Oh, but you haven't heard this. This is true. Scouts honor!" He laughed.

"None of it's real. You're a liar." Batman answered lowly.

The Joker shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, again with the assumptions. I may have told you the truth the very first time I related any such story, you can't know. As much as it hurts to hear, I'm sure, I did have an entire life before 'us'. You don't even know how old I am, do you?"

"Neither do you." Batman countered. "I don't think you even remember your past."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." The Joker said. "Maybe I remember it in flashes, maybe the entire thing is as clear to me as crystal. Maybe I'm much older then you, maybe much younger. You can't know. So let me tell you…"

Batman raked a fist across his face again.

The room spun in nauseating circles and yet the maniac continued to speak.

"Everything I tell you is true, in some form. Maybe the events change, maybe the time and place are different, but what remains is…"

Another strike, another explosion of white in his eyes and ringing in his ears, the room still going round.

"W-what remains is life, at some point, dealt me a particularly cruel hand. I reacted in only the most logical of ways. Irrationality in response to fortuity. Mimicry of life is the artist's goal, yes? That is my only intent. The basis of life presented itself to me, and I chose, quite simply, to mirror it… You think I'm crazy. But how can I be when sanity itself is nonexistent?"

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"The same thing happened to you." The Joker began again. "Only you responded _ill_ogically. Can you can believe? You tried to make sense of something senseless, tried to give reason and purpose to an act of contingency, tried to find some meaning behind what happened to you. There _is_ no meaning Batman. When are you going to figure that out?"

"You know nothing about me." Batman said, leaning in close to The Joker's bloodied face.

"I know more about you then you do about me, that much is apparent… Like, for example, it's more then obvious you have a deep rooted need to live up to some perceived ideal of excellently. Probably some grandiose vision you have of your parents. You're afraid you'll be a disappointment to them and that extends to a fear of failure in all areas. So you strive and struggle to be perfect, to never waver or falter or give in to what you think are sinful, deplorable acts of weakness. I can save you the grief. Believe me, your parent's aren't the saint's you think them to be."

Batman reacted violently, grabbing The Joker by the hair and jerking him with great force to the right, releasing him to crash to the ground, green locks ripping from the madman's scalp.

"Yup." The Joker laughed. "Right again."

Batman walked quickly to him, sinking his boot in to the maniac's stomach. The Joker breathed in sharply, losing his breath momentarily.

"S-so…" He began when he could again speak, his voice coming out in a strained whisper. "Growing up, by all outward appearances, mine was the ideal home life, loving, well liked mother and father, classy and respected by our small, privileged community. And Junior was so cute, they all said." He laughed. "Behind all that Pollyanna pedigree, though, was the bleak reality. And bleak seems almost an inadequate term in describing how truly _dark_ it was. I hope Robin isn't around? He's far too young to be exposed to such a gruesome slice of reality."

The vigilante didn't respond, grabbing the back of the chair the madman was still bound to, dragging it across the floor.

The Joker continued to talk.

"So, both Mommy and Daddy were sots. The Bad kind, you know. High balls in the morning, shots kept in jackets pockets for those afternoon cravings. They were incredibly adept at masking drunkenness though. No one ever suspected. Of course, the drinking would escalate in the evenings, when I would be home from school and they from work. Mommy was a crying drunk, the brawler would come out in Daddy. The combination made for some rather… _intense_ domestic disputes." He laughed again. "Daddy of course wasn't afraid to lay down the law, and if that meant physical enforcement, all the better. His sadistic tendencies were more then apparent. Well…"

Batman halted, releasing the seat, and he began then to untie The Joker's feet.

"Things continued on like this from the time I first was really _aware_ to the age of, I want to say eight, maybe nine years old. That's when Daddy decided it was time to start paying late night visits to my room."

Batman stopped, looking his foe in the face. The Joker shrugged as best he could, pain searing through him from the motion.

"I protested at first, of course, but Daddy was a hulking brute of a man. I got my height from him, but he had a build closer to your own. And what kid has a chance against that? His response to my defiance was to beat me, in addition to the touching and kissing. So eventually, I simply resigned to my fate and would lie very still as he… well, had his way with me. I didn't know how else to react. Over the course of some months, the whole affair began to augment and, what had started as simple fondling and masturbation, ultimately advanced to full blown intercourse. That lasted years. Mommy was, predictably, aware of the whole thing, but she didn't lift a finger to stop it. The first few times she caught me crying, she slapped me across the face and told me to 'straighten out'."

Batman looked in to The Joker's eyes very closely, and The Joker looked back, a frown playing on his face.

"Is that true Joker?" Batman asked finally, his tone icy.

The Joker sat very still for a moment, his expression remaining perturbed, before he smiled suddenly and said, "It could be."

Batman's face twisted in to disgust and he continued in untying the ropes. The Joker, for a moment, remained silent before again resuming his monolog.

"Eventually, when I had grown strong enough, and he feeble, I understandably took the first opportunity presented and killed him. Right in front of Mommy too. She was rather unnerved, I would say. You should have seen her face!" He laughed. "When I buried that clever in the side of his skull. Split his head right open like a cantaloupe, blood sprayed everywhere. Her eyes were big as saucers and she started screeeaming!"

Batman couldn't explain why, but despite knowing deep down the story was likely untrue, it still disturbed him, made him feel sick at the pit of his stomach. The vigilante credited the feeling to the _way_ Joker was telling it. The madman understood, perhaps better then anyone, how to manipulate. He was an absolute master when it came to toying with others psychologically, tapping in to their base instincts and emotions, and using those feelings to elicit any desired response. Anger, sadness, pity, sympathy. It seemed, for any individual, he knew precisely what to do in order to wind them up, exactly the thing to say and how to say it so as to enrage them, cause an attack of anxiety, or reduce them to a mess of blubbering tears. His use of language was one way in which he did it. He could make even the most outlandish or unlikely of scenarios sound true; make the most irrational thought process sound sane. He was immeasurably dangerous. While physically he never presented any great challenge, mentally, he was every bit the vigilante's equal and constantly kept the Dark Knight guessing and wondering and doubting. Keeping up with the madman's mind proved more taxing and more strenuous then the most difficult physical tests he had ever endured. The Joker was unpredictable and random, and for a detective, someone whose very methods relied on logic and reasoning, such a challenge was a veritable nightmare. And yet, The Joker was incredibly calculating, everything he did purposefully and meticulously geared towards some intended end result. It was simply what that intent was which was so impossible to determine.

"So, why untie me now, big boy? I was just beginning to enjoy this whole sadomasochistic trip you're on. It really compliments the black leather. You have some special event planned, I hope?"

Batman cut the rope from his hands and yanked him up by the collar.

"Oh I know." The Joker began as the vigilante pulled him violently along. "You're going to submer…"

He was cut short by Batman smashing an elbow against his jaw, and again in to his abdomen. On reflex the madman fell to his knees.

"Ohhoho." He wheezed, laughing, holding his stomach. "T-that r-really hurt." His voice strained. "Just w-wonderful."

Batman grabbed his hair and began to drag him towards a water tank, one which he had earlier set up.

""Predictable." The Joker continued to talk, though the slow and stunted way his words now came made obvious the great effort he was having to put forth in what would otherwise have been a simple task. "You know… darling, the whole …holding my head under water… approach has been done. The Arkham staff p-presents itself as a kind and caring unit of professionalism, but underneath that polished and tactful exterior lies the true nature… of the beast. They take great pleasure i… in trying to humiliate and torture the house residents, though their grotesqueness resides in their failure to a… admit as much. They find me a… a particularly frustrating participant t-though. They never really get the… reaction they're looking f…"

His dialog ended abruptly when a rush of ice cold water encompassed his head, and he could feel Batman's hand pressing down on the back of his scalp. How many seconds past, he couldn't be sure, but when at last he was yanked viciously from the tank, his coughs were interspersed between fits of laughter, and he didn't bother in trying to gain a deep breath.

"D-doesn't work honey b-bear." He managed before his head was again forced below. The water felt like fire against his skin, and he relished in the sensation.

Batman held him under longer this time, and when at last he pulled the madman from the water, his body shook and he hacked violently. Yet still he continued to laugh, his giggling as compact and responsible for his convulsions as the coughing; perhaps more so.

Again he pushed him under, and again, pulling him up, The Joker laughed irrepressibly.

"Y-hehhe-yo-you're so d-damn e-he-easy." He chortled. "So o-ho-obvious."

And once more Batman held him submerged.

Pulling him from the tank this time, The Joker turned to look at him, glaring.

"I k-know what you're doing, fancy-pants." He said. "Y-your little game is sh-shamefully discernable."

"You think?" Batman answered, his voice monotone, before again shoving The Joker's head under. He held him there for a long time.

"_Arrogant fool!_" He thought, pushing down harder.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd held The Joker there before realizing the lunatic had gone limp in his hands. Panic raced through the vigilante as he quickly took his hand from off the back of his enemy's head and ripped him from the water. The Joker convulsed terribly, his eyes squeezing shut from the furious, involuntary coughing. Batman hoped, for one fleeting moment, The Joker would now think twice of regarding his current predicament with such levity, but his hopes were dashed when, at last he had gained the strength and his body had allowed it, The Joker began, again, to laugh, more loudly and intensely then even before.

"You think this is funny Joker?!" Batman growled. "Would you find it funny if you knew you were going to die!?"

At this the madman's laughter grew so intense so as to become soundless, and his head shook.

"Y-you're not going to kill me dear." He giggled.

"Yes, I am." Batman countered almost immediately, his voice deadly serious.

"No, you are _not_." The Joker shot, his voice suddenly as serious as the vigilante's, his tone disgusted, his laughter ceasing. "Do you take me for such a fool?!"

Batman responded by again pushing his head in to the water, holding him there for nearly as long before releasing him.

The Joker coughed and hacked for fully a half minute before he could again speak.

"I would think it almost darling if… if it weren't so desperate." He managed, struggling, it seemed, to hold himself upright while even bent over on his hands and knees.

"What did you ex… expect? That I would cry out for help? Beg for mercy?" And he began to laugh, a wheezing, chocking giggle. He stopped after only several seconds, fixing Batman with a hateful stare. "You brought me here feigning intent to kill me, and you thought I would act…actually fall for it? My God, how naïve you are! I know you too exactly to believe you ever could be driven to… to willfully commit such an act. Your conviction is as s-strong as my own. It will come only in a moment of enraged pass… passion, when instinct and desire have taken you over. And… and even if I did believe in your sudden and thoughtful willingness to ki…kill me, what then did you think? That I would fear for my life? That I would know such _fear _and become burdened with self-doubt, at once stricken with a conscience?!" He laughed. "You prove only my point dear, s…simultaneously confessing you too know, deep down, morality to be a… a self-serving concept." Again he laughed. "Happily, I am not encumbered by any such silliness, nor will I ever be. Most certainly, concern for self-preservation will never usher in its onset… I don't _care_ pumpkin-pie. D…don't you understand that? All our lives are a joke. My liberation is in my realization of that. And all good jokes must have their punch line, sweets. I merely am a vessel through which that unavoidable and a…all too necessary punch line is…is delivered. The punch line is coming for me too, handsome, one day. Maybe sooner, maybe later. But it _is_ coming, and so I choose to laugh _with_ it, so that it might never laugh at me."

They starred long and hard at each other, neither moving, each breathing heavily, Batman from the exertion of pummeling his nemesis, The Joker from the drubbing itself.

And after what seemed minutes of stillness, the vigilante lashed out again, striking The Joker across the face, knocking him flat on his back before walking quickly away. The Joker laughed and coughed, blood filling his nose and mouth.

"D-don't be mad darling!" He chuckled madly, barely able to expel the words between his feverish giggles. "I kne-knew from the start, but I was k-ho-kind enough to l-let you have your… heh… your little fun. Do-doesn't that count for s-something!?" And he roared with laughter.

Batman fumed with anger, his fists clenched, his jaw set in a rigid line. He had never felt such all consuming loathing and disgust for anyone as he did now for the maniac behind him, he was certain.

His ears picked up suddenly a shuffling noise coming up on him and he spun in time to see The Joker lunging toward him, throwing a sluggish and clumsy punch. The vigilante leaned back, easily avoiding the blow, sweeping the maniacs feet from out under him, swiftly falling upon him, pinning him to the spot, and The Joker once more erupted in hysterics.

The lunatic must have been in incredible pain, but he seemed not to care or even notice his physical distress as he squirmed and struggled against Batman, his body convulsing with the harshness of his laughter. It seemed surreal to the vigilante as he looked down on the thinly built madman. By all appearances and considering what he had thus far endured, The Joker should have been fragile, weak, but so strong was his sheer will, that Batman found himself having to exert considerable effort in holding him still. Even when it was apparent his body wanted, and even _needed_ to fail him, The Joker simply would not let it.

"Life isn't some joke, you lunatic!" Batman said through ground teeth. "Don't you see the devastation you cause?! How you hurt people?!"

The Joker grinned wildly.

"Oh, but that's the best part!" He exclaimed. "The look on their faces! The totality of their agony! The fear, the anger… the disappointment and horror when they realize the finality of it all! When they realize all their hopes and dreams and efforts were a waste, that every thing they ever strode for, or put their faith in, was a lie! That _nothing_ means _anything_! It's positively orgasmic!" He laughed with abandon

"You disgust me!" Batman spit.

The Joker's face fell almost instantly to a frown, and his brow furrowed.

"_You_ disgust _me_." He answered lowly, suddenly bringing his knee up, in to the vigilante's abdomen. It was enough for Batman's grip to loosen just slightly, The Joker taking the opportunity to free an arm, smashing an elbow across his enemy's temple.

Batman fell backward from the blow, his vision blurred, and The Joker pushed himself to his feet. By the time the vigilante's sight began to clear, he glimpsed the madman scurrying across the cave, towards a rack of weaponry.

"God damn it!" Batman cursed, jumping to his feet. But The Joker was quick, and before he had even begun to move to him, the maniac had made it to his mark, grabbing the first thing his hands came upon.

"What the hell is this!?" The Joker studied the object he held, his expression confused, before his eyes lit up suddenly, and his lips spread to a grin. "Oh! It's a… whatchamacallit!? A… A… Oh, it's right on the tip of my tongue!" He snapped his fingers, grabbing the end of his chin, still starring at the thing in puzzlement.

Batman was nearly upon him, within a few feet, when The Joker's head snapped up.

"A batarang!" He practically shouted in excitement, fixing his sight on the encroaching vigilante, pitching the weapon at him with a vicious intensity.

Batman scarcely avoided contact, the thing grazing along his left arm.

"Damn." The Joker huffed, placing his hands on his hips, holding himself in an exaggerated, agitated stance. "Where'd you get that trash heap manufactured? China!?"

The last words had hardly expelled from his lips before he found himself having to fall to the side, barely escaping Batman's grasp.

He wasted no time is dashing across to yet another display of differing gadgets. The vigilante fumed.

He had just gotten through treating The Joker, most literally, like a human punching bag, dunking him in ice cold water as though the madman were a piece of clothing he was purposefully trying to shrink. And yet, there The Joker was, zipping around with all the fervor and energy he usually did, still trying to kill him. Batman could tell, from the way he moved, that his collar bone was broken, but it wasn't slowing him down or giving him pause. Every time he swung out, or ran, or did _anything_ really, it must have shot searing pain through him, but still, he insisted on continuing. He was a complete maniac!

As he approached, he saw The Joker begin to rummage frantically through a pile of discarded techno-gear, tossing things over his shoulder like he was looking for something specific.

"Don't you have _anything _useful in this dreary dump?" He chided, clearly exasperated.

He at last settled on a giant, solid metal box, for which a use was not apparent, and hurled the thing at the approaching vigilante. It missed by a considerable amount, and The Joker threw his hands up in disgust, scoffing loudly.

His eyes scanned the cave and as Batman was practically within an arms length of him, he yelped out an excited "ohhh!", walking nonchalantly away, as though forgetting completely about the approaching danger, leaving Batman to stumble forward, having reached out at thin air. The vigilante turned with vicious annoyance, watching as The Joker moved towards the display of glass cases, showcasing his and the many Robin's different customs throughout the years.

"Oh my!" The madman spoke, placing his fingers to his lips as he moved intently towards the case containing Jason's outfit, starring in to the glass for many, long seconds.

"Is it?!" He asked, his voice tittering with excitement, turning towards Batman, a massive grin playing on his lips. "How precious! How nauseatingly sentimental! You kept it! As I left it to be found, as well! No stitching or patch work. Kept in all it's blown to bits glory!"

His face took on a suddenly perplexed expression.

"Though, it must have been quite the task, peeling the garment from the lad's body, without it tearing further of course. I'm sure it took great care, great diligence. But, I suppose, if you wanted to preserve the memory precisely, that would be the effort required. Clearly, you did. Such fond memories too. We certainly had a blast that day the three of us. Didn't we?!"

Batman flew in to a rage, flinging himself at the madman, and The Joker laughed hysterically, dashing away. The vigilante tore after him, filled now with deadly determination to catch him.

"What's with the giant Joker card Batman!?" The lunatic called over his shoulder. "I don't even _remember_ trying to kill you with that ridiculous thing. Or is it a memento commissioned so you could feel near me always?! Oh, that must be it! Darling! How positively scrumptious!"

The vigilante continued toward him, trying to ignore the persistent dialog. He scarcely noticed The Joker halt, turning to face him, and was right on top of him when the madman threw out his hand and released a blur of sharp edged tacks, the kind his car would drop behind to pop tires. "Where the hell…" Batman was barely able to say. The motion was so quick and unexpected that the star shaped weapons made direct contact with his face, scraping painfully against his exposed jaw, bouncing off the top part of his cowl. It stopped him in his tracks momentarily and The Joker took off again, directly for the batmobile.

"No!" Batman shouted, occurring to him suddenly that, in his hast to bind The Joker, he had left the cockpit of the car exposed.

The Joker laughed madly as he sprinted for the vehicle, grabbing hold of its edge and vaulting himself in to its cabin.

"So long sister!" He giggled manically.

Years of having taken rides to Arkham in the car had enabled The Joker understanding of the machines inner workings and he reached with confidence for the ignition. The engine came on with a loud hum, the cockpit roof sliding shut, tight, just as Batman had reached him.

"Now…" The Joker spoke to himself. "Which way out, I wonder?"

And as if in response, the platform the car sat upon began to turn, LED lights illuminating about the vehicle and spreading quickly along a pathway, leading to the exit.

"Fancy." The Joker noted in a bored tone. "Well, money." He shrugged, shifting the car in to drive, pressing down hard on the gas peddle. The engine roared and the car surged forward, pushing the madman back against the seat.

"Damn it, no!" Batman turned, dashing for the manual control panel on the far end of the cave. Somehow, he reached the thing before hearing the bay doors open, and frantically, he punched in the code to disable to vehicle. The vigilante's relief was nearly immeasurable as he heard the car power down and he turned to see it sitting there, just before the giant metal doors which served as the caves entrance. Immediately he headed for it, watching as the roof slid open and The Joker leapt from cabin, seemingly calm.

"Well sweetheart, almost made it." He said, shrugging and grinning, standing aloof as Batman sprinted for him. He didn't bother trying to avoid the vigilante as he was sacked to the ground.

Batman leaned his entire weight upon the madman, pinning his arms above his head, glaring in to his face with rage filled eyes.

"Enough Joker!" He spat. "No more of your ridiculous games!"

The Joker giggled.

"Oh, but we have such a gay old time together, don't we?!"

Batman said nothing, his teeth gritted, before smashing an elbow against his enemy's temple, knocking the maniac cold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

By the time The Joker awoke, Batman again had him cuffed and they were once more in his car.

No doubt headed towards Arkham, The Joker thought.

He rolled his eyes at how predictable the whole ordeal was.

"Hello Darling." He said, his voice quiet.

Batman ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"Oh Batman, you would me deeply with such neglect."

And again the cabin fell silent.

The Joker sighed loudly, looking out the passenger side window.

He wasn't ready to go back. Not yet. The putz had gotten the drop on him this time, to his great agitation, and his feelings were now unpleasant.

This wouldn't do.

"Batman…" He began. "Batman… sweetheart?" His voice was soft, innocent sounding.

The vigilante remained mute. Another moment of silence past.

"I'm not ready to go back."

"_No_!"

Batman's eyes shot wide and he turned quickly to face the madman, only in time to see his hands free of their restraints. He thought for a split second to press the break, but the thought hadn't come quickly enough as The Joker, in an instant, sunk a small knife deep in to the vigilantes forearm, pulling it upwards so that the blade dragged along, tearing open the flesh.

"Gahh!" Batman's teeth ground.

And just as quickly, the maniac had reached for the emergency lock release, pressing the button, the roof overhead sliding open.

"Don't be stupid!" Batman's voice rose over the wind whipping in to the cabin. "We're at 60! The impact will kill you!"

"Words backed up in action deary!" The Joker yelled, releasing his belt buckle and standing. "You should know by now, I always have a trick or two up my sleeve!" And he laughed, tossing a handful of paperclips in to the vigilante's face before putting a foot along the edge of the door.

"NO!" Batman screamed, reaching out just as the lunatic leaped from the cockpit. He slammed on the car's break, the vehicle traveling another 50 feet before coming to a complete stop.

It had all happened too quickly for him to have prevented it.

"Damn it! God damn it!" He cursed to himself, closing his eyes for only a moment.

"_He must be dead._"

He looked back then, down the road, expecting to see The Joker's mauled body lying across the blacktop.

All he saw was blood.

"Impossible." He whispered to himself, pulling the small knife from his arm, his teeth gritting as he did so.

"_Where the hell was he hiding these things?! I searched him thoroughly I thought_." He vexed, leaping from the car and walking with urgency towards the spot where The Joker had landed.

All he found was a trail of blood, leading in to the dense thicket of woods along the roadside.

He sighed, brining his hand to his temple.

"_How could he have survived that_?"

He peered out, in to the trees and shrubbery, his eyes narrowing. It was dark. Pitch. The madman couldn't have gotten far, not with the lack of visibility and the injuries he had no doubt suffered from the fall. He might even die, Batman thought. And his heart suddenly sunk at the notion, realizing if The Joker in fact didn't survive, that it would be himself who was to blame.

And so he searched for hours following, until sun break.

Nothing came up.

The Joker had somehow managed to disappear in to that growth, somehow hidden himself, even the trail of blood ending abruptly, leaving no sign of a discernable direction to head.

Batman leaned down, his eyes scanning upward, towards the sky, squinting at the encroaching sunlight.

The Joker was gone. He'd let him get away. And with that lunatic, no body almost certainly meant he still lived.

The vigilante couldn't help the sense of relief which overcame him knowing this. He knew, deep down, that to kill would unravel him, that he couldn't bear the burden of his guilt if ever he was the cause of someone's death, either directly or indirectly, even that's madman's.

But it was relief mixed with dread, as he knew also the lunatic being out there nearly ensured others would meet their end.

The Joker was death's messenger.

… The Joker was death himself.

"_You fool Bruce! You total fool._"

He felt, in that moment, more imbecilic then ever he had felt before.

People were going to die.

And it was his fault.

"Aw Alonzo, you just gotta help me! I've been lookin' a month and I _know_ the big bastard took em'! I just know it!" Harley wined, grabbing hold of the man's sleeve in desperation.

Alonzo's face twisted in disgust and he shook her off.

"Look Harley…" He began, smoothing down his sleeve. "Even _if_ the Bat took em', I don't know why yer so upset. First of all, da guys a lunatic! I mean, a real, certifiable _whack job_ dat guy is. Don't nobody wanna do bidness wit em', ain't dat right boys?" He looked around and a collection of 'yeah's' and 'you said it's' came from the room.

"See? He's totally nuts! And you's would know too, wouldn't ya? I mean, didn't you used to be his head shrink or somethin'? None of the boys can understand why ya hang around em'." He looked down at her in confusion. "He ain't no good for ya Harley. He ain't no good for no one."

She stared up at him, her eyes blazing with anger.

"He loves me!" She spat.

Alonzo began to laugh.

"Yeah, sure lil' darlin'. He loves you like he loves his dead motha. If he ever had a motha. Dat freak don't love nothin' or nobody. Everythin's dead to dat clown honey, don't you get it? The only reason he keeps you's around is so everyone can see how he fucked up dat pretty little head a yours. It's like a threat and a boast all at da same time. Like, don't fuck wit me, cause look what I can do type a thing."

Harley could feel her whole body tensing up, her teeth grinding, her fists clenched.

"A course, da only ones who'd wanna hang around a head case like dat would be another head case. Ain't dat right sweetheart?" He laughed.

"You bastard!" She screamed, lunging her body at him, her hands wrapping around his throat in a vice like grip. He stumbled backwards, tearing at her fingers.

"G…ackh..G-gg..ackh." He chocked and hacked, trying desperately to free himself, stumbling and falling to his back. Harley held tight, squeezing as hard as her strength allowed, her face mad with rage.

Moments later she found herself being pulled away, kicking and screaming.

"Lemme go, damn it! Lemme go!"

Alonzo held at his throat, messaging it, coughing and hacking, trying to regain his breath.

"D-did you see what dat crazy bitch did!?" He managed, alarm in his voice, staring wide eyed at the struggling woman. "She… She tried ta kill me! Da crazy bitch actually tried ta kill me! No wonder her and da clown get along so cozy. They're both nuts!"

"Screw you Alonzo. Wait'll Mistah J hears about this! You'll be sorry then, you overgrown sack of potatoes!" She snapped.

Alonzo picked himself up and walked to her. She struggled viciously against the men, wishing she could scratch his eyes out.

"Is dat right sweetheart?" He mocked, bending down so that his face was only inches from her own. "And what happened to "Mistah J" bein' kidnapped by da Bat? If dat's true, your man is either dead, or locked back up in da loony bin where he belongs. Cause everyone knows, every time he plays wit da man in black, he loses. And he'll lose too if he's dumb enough to show his face round here. You see em', you tell em' ol' Alonzo said so. I ain't scared a dat psycho! I'll shoot his pasty face, right here!" He pressed a finger between his eyes. "BAM!" And he laughed.

Harley seethed inside, spitting suddenly in his face.

Alonzo looked shocked, wiping the saliva away, rearing a hand back and slapping her hard, across the face.

"Throw dis bitch OUT. NOW!" He fumed, walking away.

As they dragged her towards the door, he turned and looked at her. "If either you's or dat freak show's either of your faces round here, your both dead! You hear!?"

And with that, Harley was unceremoniously ejected from the warehouse, thrown against the pavement of a dirty back ally.

She picked herself up slowly, trying in vain to wipe the dirt and grime from her outfit.

"Bastards. I'll show em'. Me and Mistah J'll get em' good." She mumbled to herself. And abruptly, she broke out in to sobs, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh Puddin', where are ya?!" She cried, burying her face in her hands. She must have been standing there for a good five minutes, crying her eyes out, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned defensively.

"Wow, wow, hey. Calm down there."

It was Steve, one of Alonzo's gang.

"Whadda ya want!?" Harley asked angrily, wiping at her eyes.

"Listen, Harley, I'm sorry about what happened back there." The man said, sounding sincere.

"Yeah, well, a lotta good that does me!"

"Look… Alonzo's an idiot. Every punk in this joint is scared shitless of Joker, including big boss man in there. Nobody in their right mind would…"

"What's that supposed to mean!?" She became suddenly incensed.

"Nothin'!" Steve put his hands up defensively. "All I was saying is, nobody would ever want to cross him, alright, not if they valued their life."

….

"…I came out here to tell you, there's been talk the last week of Joker being hold up in Juicey's sweets, that old abandoned candy factory down on 23rd. Nobody's been there, but that's the word."

Harley stared at him for a long moment.

"If you're jivin' me…"

"I'm not, I swear! Look, I don't know if it's true, but that's what I've heard."

She eyed him suspiciously before finally relaxing.

"Thanks Steve." She said, meaning it genuinely.

He bit his lip. He'd _had_ to tell her. Knowing The Joker's whereabouts, he knew she too would find him, eventually, and she would tell him what had gone down at Alonzo's, tell him what his idiot boss said, and that would put all their lives in danger. If he at least appealed to the girl, made her feel he was on her side, maybe he could blow the joint in anonymity. He knew it would be his only chance. The rest of them were too dumb to realize it.

"It's fine." He answered. "Just, if you find Joker and tell him about any of this, leave my name out of it, will ya?"

Harley smiled.

"Sure will Steve!" She said giddily, and he watched with apprehension as she nearly skipped off, in to the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

Harley looked back down the alley way, leading to the street beyond, and back again to the defunct building she now stood before. This was the place alright, and from the outside, it sure looked to be one hell of a dump. No surprise there, Harley thought, pushing the rusting metal door of the back entrance open as quietly as its creaking hinges would allow. The darkness within caused her pause however, and she proceeded forward with caution.

"_Mistah J better be here_." She thought to herself, largely from worry. She just wanted to know he was alright.

Her eyes had only begun to adjust to the blackness when she heard a faint tapping noise coming from the direction to her right and as she turned to find its source, she saw a yellow light creeping out from beneath another door.

"Bingo." She whispered, moving towards it.

As she approached the door, the tapping noise grew louder and she pressed an ear against the cold metal of the entrance, straining to discover its cause. After some moments of failure, she decided simply to proceed, resting her hand on the knob and pulling towards her slowly. Her eyes were flooded with a bright light washing over the room and she squinted, peering forward, towards the end wall of the large, empty space, making out a work bench and the figure of a man sitting, hunched over it. Moving deliberately in the direction, it would be only a few, short seconds more before she realized that, indeed, the man at the bench was her Puddin', and she smiled as if on queue, opening her mouth to make her presence known.

"Hello Harley." She was stopped by his greeting her. Her face twisted in to confusion. She hadn't seen him _once_ look up from what he was doing, and she had been utterly silent, she thought. How had he known it was her?

She started again towards him, and drawing nearer, saw he held in his hand some sort of electrical board, the kind you might find in computers, touching it with, what to Harley looked to be a tiny, metal stick, little blue shocks of electricity sparking from the thing every few seconds.

As she came upon him, he spoke again.

"I was wondering when you might find your way here." He didn't bother to look at her, his sight concentrated purely on the task in his hands.

Harley's initial relief at seeing him at once dissipated and was replaced with abrupt feelings of anger and hurt.

Her face fell to a frown and she stood with her hands on her hips, a defiant stance.

"Dang it Mistah J! I was worried half ta death over you! Thought the Bat freak had kidnapped ya or somethin'! Instead you was here the whole freakin' time, and I just about had a nervous breakd…"

She was cut short by his low and even laughter, and she stared, wide eyed, her blood boiling.

"What's so funny!?" She asked, exasperated and breathing heavily from her outburst.

He continued to chuckle.

"My darling little sleuth, you are so much keener then outward appearances would persuade others to assume of you." He said.

She starred back, lost.

"Huh?"

At last he looked up from his work, smiling at her.

"Your inchoative assumption was indeed the most accurate beautiful. I was, in fact, kidnapped, as you say, by our beleaguered friend in cape and cowl."

"Ya mean, the Bat freak really took you!?" She sounded suddenly shocked.

He laughed again.

"Yeees. And what fun it was! The poor dear had no notion of what he was getting in to, strange as that is. Oh, but you should have seen it Harley!" The Joker sounded very excited and was suddenly highly animated. "In he came, dashing and chivalric, swooping in on silent wings. Even I unaware of his approach until he came charging through that door. You can imagine my surprise!"

"Oh my God, whadid he do to you!?" She asked, her hand over her mouth.

He smiled and laughed.

"Why, he knocked me unconscious my sweet, as is his usual way."

Harley gasped loudly, her eyes wide with horror.

The Joker seemed un-phased by her reaction and continued on.

"Of course, I attempted to mount an attack of my own, extempore, throwing various objects and chemicals his way, fighting back with whatever I could lay my hands upon, but he was a determined boy that night. No amount of well laid calculation could have kept him from his goal, let alone improvisation, as masterful at it as I am; of that I am certain. One has really to derange our dear dark knight in order that he become so unstoppably driven." The Joker giggled, and clasped his hands together in delight. "Isn't it wonderful!?"

Harley stood silently, not knowing how to respond.

The Joker leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, curling his fingers underneath.

"He brought me to _his _secret hideout. Isn't that wild?!" He whispered lowly. "Under the pretense that, by his hand, I would meet my demise that very night."

"He tried to kill you!?" Harley's eyes shot wide.

The Joker laughed loudly at her reaction.

"No darling." He began. "He desired only for me to believe his intent were so. Some sort of shock therapy, concocted in his mind. I believe he hoped for it would jostle me from what he perceives to be a state of lunacy; that in a condition of near death, I would be struck suddenly with a case of moral reasoning, that right and wrong would be at once clear and distinct to me. We've had this discussion before doll, remember? Of course, I knew it to be artifice from the start. It would almost have been cute, if not for it being so sad."

"But… but how'd you know he wasn't really gonna do it!?" Harley questioned, confused.

"Because my dear, Batman is the sort of creature who is never willingly going to abandon himself to base instinct. Everything was far too well planned for him to execute and actually follow through on. Given time to think, and he almost always will convince himself against acting out his desires. He will kill only if and when driven to a fit of blinding, hysterical rage, grief or any such state of volatile emotion. I hope to be the first to push him to this, and as best as I know, I am the only one who has ever come even close."

"But you… you got away?" She questioned, noting for the first time the vanishing bruises along his face. He healed more quickly then was natural, she had known that even back at Arkham, and she realized, if there still were traces of what had happened to him a month following, then what he endured must have been sever. Her heart sunk.

"Well of course Harley!" The Joker said as though it were matter of fact. "Oh, he had the upper hand for a time, certainly. But he blundered grievously, as usual. Failed to search me in places unused." And he brought a hand to the collar of his shirt, flipping it up. "Had some essentials hidden there. Bat-babe prepares, but only for the expected. His line of thought is rigid, stationary, doesn't allow him to deviate from patterns or notions backed by evidence. That's the detective in him. Everything has to follow a rule. Everything has to be logical and defined, and predictable. Everything has to make sense. He always did lack creativity. It's his one, great weakness. I keep trying to show him. But he doesn't allow himself weakness. He doesn't accept it. And that denial serves only to render his weakness stronger… He says mine is that I love too much the sound of my own voice. Perhaps he's right. But when you sound this good, how can it be helped?!" And he began to laugh.

Harley starred blankly for a moment, not getting the humor. But, seeing his amusement, eventually began to laugh as well. And they continued on in their merriment for what seemed several minutes, before it finally died down, trailing off in to light, sporadic giggling and sighs.

"Oh, Mistah J, I'm so glad you're alright!" Harley breathed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He stared at her stoically, his trailing off laughter coming to an abrupt stop.

She noted the dead-pan expression and worry came suddenly over her face.

"Is… is anything wrong Puddin'?" She asked, her voice unsteady, fearing he was quickly to fly in to a rage.

He eyed her a moment longer, a cold, hard stare, before a smile spread over his lips.

"No Harley, nothing's wrong…" He paused, continuing to keep his gaze on her. "How did you find me?"

Her face lit up as though remembering something which had for the longest time escaped her.

"Oh, that's what I been wantin' to tell ya Mistah J!" She snapped her fingers. He looked at her expectantly.

"Okay, so you know old Alonzo, right?"

"Alonzo?" The Joker questioned, a look of genuine perplexity adorning his face.

"Yeah, ya know, big lug with a goatee and pierced ears. He and his gang operate outta that beat up warehouse, out on the east side docks."

"Go on." The Joker instructed.

Harley proceeded to explain the circumstances which had led her to him, retelling in detail what Alonzo had said and how he had treated her.

The Joker nodded as he listened, holding his chin as though deep in contemplation.

"He said if either of us showed our faces round there again, he'd kill us! Can you believe the nerve!?"

"Is that what he said?!" He asked, mock astonishment lacing his voice.

"Yeah!" Harley exclaimed with indignation. "He said he wasn't scared of ya. What a laugh, huh?"

"Indeed, quite humorous." The Joker responded with dead calm, staring ahead, past the clown-clad girl.

Harley knew from the demeanor of his reaction, despite its impression of restraint, that he was, in fact, burning with fury. That was how he was. She'd lived long enough with him at that point to know, when angered beyond measure, The Joker usually fell in to these strange, subdued states, by all outward appearances measured and quiet, before exploding in a rage of brutal and vicious violence, and Harley knew enough, at those times, to stay well clear of his path. Alonzo and his gang had bought it for sure, she thought.

The room fell silent for what seemed minutes and Harley stared at The Joker, nervously anticipating his course of action.

"Well…" He began at last, his soft voice breaking the weight of the room's atmosphere. "I suppose we simply must pay our derisive friends a social visit, mustn't we?"

Harley smiled broadly.

"I guess so Mistah J!" She answered giddily.

"_Pay back time!_" She thought to herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

"Geez Alonzo, didja havta treat the girl so rough? I mean, I know she was askin' for it and all, but what if she finds da clown? She'll tell em' for sure." Vic, a fat man wearing a broad brimmed fedora and chewing on an unlit cigar leaned back in his seat, giving his boss a nervous glance.

"Let her tell em'!" Alonzo spit, fingering his cards. "I'm sicka dat freak pushing us 'round. We're one of da top drug cartels in all a Gotham, and I run it. Yet I'm gonna let some two-bit psycho who ain't never seen the inside of a real prison intimidate _me_?! I don't think so. 'Sides, he ain't so tough. Used to cushy livin' at dat joke asylum. Let me see em' do ten years hard labor at Blackgate, and then we'll talk. I'll fuck em' up if he's dumb enough to show dat pasty face a his round here." He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Whatchu got?"

Vic held out a pair of eights, along with a six, a King and a Queen.

"Damn." Alonzo threw his cards down in disgust, standing from the table. "Dat's da 3rd set you've won!"

Vic shrugged, pulling the pile of bills towards him.

"Ahh!" Alonzo threw his hands down, frustrated, peering absently to the side. Suddenly be began to chuckle.

"Hey, ain't Joker like, queer or somethin' for da Bat? Dat's what I heard anyway."

"Yeah, that's the rumor boss." Andy, another of the group spoke up.

Alonzo's laughter grew.

"H-hey, if dat's da way he swings, we could really give dem two clowns somethin' to scream 'bout, if he and his pretty lady come round here dat is."

"Yeah, what's that boss!?"

"Well, we tie's da two of em' up, see? And makin' da little girl watch, we could take turns on da freak, ya know…" Alonzo clenched his fists and grotesquely rocked his hips forward and back.

The room erupted in laughter.

"Ya know, since he's always joshin' us with dat flirtation shit, see if he laughs when someone's given to em' for real, ovah and ovah and ovah! The room continued in hysterics, watching as their head bumped and ground the air.

The constant of the room's noise was cut abruptly in to by loud, uninhibited laughter, rising in volume above the rest, and all eyes fell, almost simultaneously, upon the warehouse entrance, silence filling the space at once.

There The Joker stood, leaning slighting forward against a cane, Harley hanging lovingly from his arm.

"Goodness, Alonzo, I don't recall when last I laughed so." The madman wiped at his eyes, moving forward.

As if prompted by a director, the room's occupants fell instinctively back, moving away from The Joker and Harley as they stepped towards their frozen leader.

"J-Joker. I-I-I didn't hear you come in." Alonzo stuttered dumbly.

"Hmmm, no, it would appear you did not." The Joker spoke softly. "Too busy laughing it up with your boys, perhaps?"

"L-listen Joker, dat… dat was j-just a gag. We didn't mean nothin'."

"Of course not Alonzo." The Joker continued by him, walking to the small, round table the gang boss had only minutes before been playing poker at.

Alonzo watched as The Joker went round the table, picking up the two hands of cards, along with the remaining deck. Vic had stumbled up from his chair and pressed himself up against a wall directly behind him.

The lunatic examined Alonzo's hand closely.

"A ten, a six, a seven, a jack and an Ace." He spoke. "Too bad, no joker. Could have won the hand Lonzy."

The man said nothing, sweat forming along his forehead.

"Mmm." The Joker shrugged, picking the joker from the deck, flicking it downward with a hard, swift motion so that, somehow, its edge embedded in the wood of the table.

"Too bad indeed." He said again, beginning to shuffle the cards in a rapid motion, walking back towards Alonzo.

The man stepped back, unaware, as The Joker starred down at him, his face calm, unreadable.

"I heard you've mishandled some personal property of mine, Lonzi." He spoke in nearly a whisper, bending down so that his face came close to the ring leaders own.

Alonzo glimpsed Harley from the corner of his eye, her tongue stuck out at him.

"J-just a-a m-misunderstanding Joker. I s-swear to God I didn't mean n-nothin' by it."

The Joker leered at him, straightening to his full height, now towering over the frightened man, before taking the deck he held and releasing them in a stream, in to Alonzo's face.

The man was thrown momentarily in to a state of panic and confusion, swapping his hands through the air and stumbling backward. The Joker erupted in to laughter at the sight, and Harley followed in his hysterics. The rest of the room remained utterly silent.

"Did you…!" Alonzo began, shocked. "Did you see dat?!" He asked his men, who only stared at him. He brought his eyes quickly back to The Joker, his face contorting to anger.

"You sonofabitch!" He screamed. "You come in here and disrespect me like dis!?"

The Joker continued to stare at him, an amused expression on his face.

"_No one_ disrespects Alonzo Carmine like dat. _No one_!"

"Oh!?" The Joker spoke, feigning surprise. "Well, as the bearer of bad news, I'm sorry to inform, someone just did Lonzy. Now…how, pre tell, do you plan to rectify the situation if, as you have so vehemently declared, no one is allowed against you such irreverence?"

Alonzo fumed, his face turning a visible shade of red.

"Nicky, Shane, ice dis clown!"

The two goons warily eyed the other. They knew if they didn't obey Alonzo, he likely would have them offed, and if they did, they stood a good chance of the meeting their end just the same. Weighing their options, the best rout looked to be doing as Alonzo said. It may have been The Joker he was ordering iced, but The Joker was still just one man, and the two of them would surely have the upper hand.

So they drew their weapons and as they brought the pistols to aim, two loud shots rang out. The room flinched, and in the moment following the initial confusion, everyone saw Nicky and Shane, lying dead on the floor, a bullet hole for each, between the eyes. And there stood The Joker, a smoking firearm held in his extended hand, the other thrown back in a dramatic pose of gusto.

Everyone's jaw hung open in total disbelief.

"How didjou… But…" Alonzo stuttered.

The Joker chuckled, whipping the pistol around his long finger.

"But, but… I didn't see you move!" The Joker mocked the gang head, simulating a women's tone.

And in the next instant, the smile on his face vanished, his mouth twisting to an exaggerated frown. "You sicken me so _absolutely_, Alonzo. Your men know _nothing_ of how to wield a weapon, of what is required when engaged in a duel to the death. They are slow, sluggish, unfocused and uncommitted." He said with a serious calm, coming nearer to the again petrified man. "You aren't afraid of me, is that right?" The Joker spoke quietly, pressing the revolver against Alonzo's chest. "And no one _dare_ treat the _great_ Alonzo Carmine with anything less then perfect veneration, isn't that so, _Lonzi_?"

The man opened his mouth to speak, but all that followed was stunned silence.

The Joker rolled his eyes, spinning around so that he now faced the group of terrified pushers, errand boys and bodyguards.

"Here, lady and gentlemen, we see the very _typical_ homosappian response to any of a number of presentable life threatening situations. Oh, this one _tried_ for a time to hold to its spurious ideals, indignantly defending its _honor_. But, in the end, when realization struck as to the most dubious destiny of its life, those ideals were quick to dissipate; showing themselves to be the vapid and meaningless illusions all here knew them to be already. Tsk, tsk, so very tragic, so very pitiable. Don't you all think?"

The Joker glanced around the room at the frozen lot of men, who starred back, eyes wide with fright.

When no reply came, the madman sighed loudly, as if frustrated and resigned to the fact of their inability to properly respond.

Facing Alonzo again, he saw the eyes of the gang head flicker towards his men.

"Watch them Harley." He ordered smoothly, continuing undistracted towards his mark.

Harley obeyed without hesitation, taking the automatic from her bag and aiming it pointedly towards the men.

"Don't the lot a'ya move!" Harley barked, bravado in her voice. The direction was unnecessary. None among them was foolish enough to try, not after seeing what had become of their two compatriots.

"Now Lonzi, I _might_ have been willing to overlook the vulgar displays of sheer idiocy you've subjected not only your ring of aimless unfortunates to, but also my darling doll here. Though unlikely my pardon was, still, it _was_ within the realm of possibility. That is, until a little harlequin told of the many distasteful and abhorrent falsities propagated in relation to a certain clown prince's encounters with yours and my favorite caped crusader. Now, sadly _now_, if I am to render my reputation in tact, I simply cannot allow such ridiculous speak to persist unpunished. Alonzo, you have managed, through your _obscene_ stupidity, to achieve in me great upset. It is one thing to claim, of the many perilous yet fantastical engagements among the Bat-buffoon and myself, the score to be evenly split. But to allege of me as falling always on the losing side, well, that is, quite plainly, nothing but blatant mendaciousness, _utterly _untrue, and I will not stand idly by to watch as my good name is laid open to assassination!"

Alonzo stared dumbly, his mind twisted in to knots, his expression showing clearly he hadn't understood a word said.

The Joker's eyes rolled.

"I'm gong to _kill_ you Alonzo." He said, his tone bored.

At this the gang leader's face drained of color and he began to stutter almost uncontrollably.

"J-Jesus fuckin' C-Christ Joker, I-I-I didn't m-mean nothin', I swear ta God I d-didn't. P-please, ya gotta believe me. I mean, y-you c-can take a joke, r-right? I mean, you is da J-Joker an' all." He laughed nervously. "P-please man, you don't gotta do dis!"

The Joker pulled back from him, smiling widely.

"I don't… _gotta_ do this?" He threw the statement back as a question. "How very intriguing." He continued. "In fact, none of us _have_ to do anything, not _really_. Although, if one is looking to reach any particular end, certain actions may, indeed, be required in achieving the desired conclusion. In this regard, _have_ may be an applicable term. I _have_ to exercise _if _I don't want to become fat." The Joker poked a finger hard against Alonzo's flabby stomach. "I _have_ to take a shower _if _I don't want to smell like moist fungal growth." The madman sniffed the air about him, his face twisting in disgust. "I _have_ to refrain from spreading certain falsehoods _if_ I don't want The Joker to kill me." And he laughed loudly, Alonzo flinching at the sound. Harley's face meanwhile had lit up in to a giant grin.

"No Lonzi, I don't suppose I _have _to kill you for the sake of killing alone, and I don't suspect, in actuality, my reputation will truly suffer were I to allow you to live, so deeply embedded is it in most people's consciousness already. But I never was a creature to act out of necessity Lonzi, but rather, desire. And I desire very much to see your bloated, mutilated body entirely devoid of that energy force we call life, lying in humiliated ruin at my feet." The Joker smiled a sweet smile, before stepping back and looking over the terrified man with a curious glance.

"But you know Lonzi, your display of bravado did amuse me, as brief as it may have been, and so I've decided, in quite the show of generosity if I may allow myself the compliment, to present to you some options."

"But Puddin'!?" Harley protested suddenly.

The Joker raised a hand, motioning that she be quiet, while still keeping his gaze on Alonzo.

"Now…" He began again, his voice as calm and measured as before. "What was that you were speaking of again, before Harley and I made our presence known to you?"

Alonzo just stared blankly, the sweat glistening off his forehead.

"Oh, yes!" The Joker loudly snapped his fingers. "You were having a gay old time relating fantasies of homosexual relations with me, isn't that right Alonzo?"

Again, nothing but silence from the gang leader.

"Now Lonzi, as painful as it must doubtless be for you to hear this, and as much fun as I'm sure the lot of us might have had together, engaged in such frivolous, indulgent activity, as you have _also_ duly noted, my commitment in this area lies elsewhere, and I feel certain Batykins would fly in to a rage of jealousy were he to uncover any unfaithful comportment on my part. But far be it from me to leave my devout admirers _wanting_, and so, as a testament to the boundless capacity of my mercy and compassion, before you meet your inevitable demise, I offer to you a choice! You either can die now, in which event, immediately preceding the execution, your lifeless corpse will be repeatedly and savagely violated by the most gracious and kind-hearted group of necrophiliacs you could ever hope to know. Met them while meandering through a graveyard not two years ago. Sweet, sweet people Lonzi, really. Or, you can die tomorrow, and in the period between present and then, enjoy some quality alone time with a group much craggier then the company I'm sure you most generally keep. Oh, I know some fellows, _fine_ in what they do, who would be _more _then willing to indulge your earlier detailed imaginings. So, what say you darling? Death now, followed by the ultimate in cultural degradation, or will you choose to prolong the remaining moments of your life, opting instead to live through the supposedly unbearable shame of male on male gang rape? The selection is solely yours to make."

Alonzo's face had fallen in to sheer disbelieving horror.

"P-please Joker, please don't… don't do dis. P-please." He stammered, his voice cracking, indicating him to be on the verge of tears.

"No room for supplication now Lonzi. You have two reasonable and, given the circumstance, frankly generous options presented you. You have ten seconds to choose one. Die now or die later. Either way, an inevitable outcome, but for you, each comes packaged exclusively with its own, unique brand of humiliation. Though I scarcely think it possible for you to embarrass yourself further then already you have. I mean, just look at you!"

The Joker mocked the tears which now streamed uninhibited from Alonzo's eyes as he blubbered and begged for mercy.

"Come now Alonzo, time's ticking away. Eight, seven, six…"

"Please!" The gang leader screamed, falling to his knees. "I beg you!"

"Five, four… I can't hear you Lonzi, what is it you want?"

"God, please, I don't wanna die!" The broken man slurred at last, falling forward on to his hands, shaking uncontrollably with sobs.

The Joker threw his hands up, exasperated. "Well, Alonzo, since you failed to provide to us a clear preference, I'm going to _assume _you would desire to meet your end sooner, rather then later." And he brought his gun to aim at the gang leaders head.

"NO!" Alonzo screamed suddenly. "No, please, I don't wanna…"

"You don't want to die _now_ Alonzo?" The Joker asked, feigning surprise.

The man shook his head pitifully.

"You would like until tomorrow then?"

A nod.

"Very well." The Joker said. "See how simple that was Lonzi? All you had to do was choose, one or the other." And he turned away, leaning in close to Harley, who still kept her weapon trained on the room's further occupants, whispering something in her ear. Her eyes grew wide.

"R-really Mistah J?" She asked.

"What did I teach you about hesitation, my dear." He spoke to her quietly. "Now is no time for such feelings of reservation."

"Yeah, but… Mistah J, I…"

He sighed angrily.

"Harley, if you do not do as I say, then I simply will carry out the task myself."

"But, it's just, I know them Mistah J!"

His eyes narrowed.

"And?"

"I think… I think it makes it harder." She tried to explain.

The gang members began to eye one another nervously as Harley and The Joker argued.

"Don't be imbecilic Harley!" The Joker snapped, the agitation in his voice apparent.

"I'm… I'm sorry Puddin'." She practically whimpered. "I wanna do right."

He stared at her hard.

"Then do as I…" He was stopped mid-sentence by her eyes growing slightly wide, and he sighed, his eyes rolling upward as he turned quickly to find Alonzo shakily brining a gun up to aim his way.

The Joker did not hesitate, swiftly directing his pistol at the man and firing.

"Now _look_ what you've made me do Harley!" The Joker motioned towards the now dead Alonzo, brains and blood scattered grotesquely in all directions. "I've dishonored Lonzi's final wishes, and it's all because of _you_! How do you think that makes me feel!?"

"I'm sorry Mistah J! I'm really, _really _sorry. Don't be mad! Please forgive me! Please!?" The girl practically begged.

The Joker shook his head, turning away, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry Harley." He answered with exaggerated hurt in his voice. "But I simply cannot bring myself to do that unless you kill Alonzo's lot of merry men."

"What?!" Vic exclaimed, shocked. The rest of the gang members followed in his surprise, talking loudly amongst themselves.

"Uh, Mistah J…" Harley looked around nervously at the now infuriated group.

The Joker remained as he was, again shaking his head.

"The choice is entirely yours dear. You either can allow our choleric friends to blow us sky high, in which case, you only would have your dubious, fear based ethical standards to blame, or you can do much the same to them, before they are given the opportunity. I will not interfere in you decision by taking matters in to my own hands. The situations outcome rests entirely upon your shoulders, sweetie-pie."

"Dis is stupid!" Danny, another of the men, yelled out. "Let's pop dese motherfuckers!"

"Mistha J!" Harley screamed.

Again The Joker shook his head, his arms still crossed.

Harley couldn't believe it. He was ready to die! Right then and there. And he was willing to let her die too, making more then apparent his refusal to take action against the thugs about them. He _was_ leaving their fate to her. It was sheer madness!

"God damn it!" She screamed, taking aim and opening fire, just as the goons had reached to their inside pockets to draw their weapons.

The gun fire must have lasted a good thirty seconds before it ceased and the smoke began to clear. Lying in bloodied heaps on the ground were Alonzo's men, most dead, some still groaning faintly as the life went out of them.

The Joker smiled, patting Harley on the head like an obedient child.

"Very good pumpkin. See how quickly those moments of moral dilemma disappear when forced to choose between your life and theirs?"

Harley looked at him with incredulous anger.

"Ya mean, you risked _both _our lives to prove a freakin' point!?" She nearly yelled, overcome with shock and fury.

The Joker laughed loudly.

"Of course Harlequin. Why else?"

She stared back in total disbelief.

"Now, take Lonzi out to the car my sweet. We've a package for delivery, to our darling friends from the cemetery."

He watched as Harley gave him a hard glare, before stomping off, towards the stiffening corpse that was Alonzo, struggling as she lifted it from behind, her hands hooked under the arms. The Joker couldn't help but smile as her disgusted expression indicated she might soon be sick.

The truth was, The Joker had been conditioning Harley so as to become familiar with the act of taking a life, to killing indiscriminately and without reservation. Certainly, at times, she was able to make him laugh, and that, in his view, would always be considered a benefit. But as it stood, she was proving to be nothing more then an attractive cheerleader, bumbling in her ways. Her few attributes were hardly incentive enough for him to keep her alive. But he also disliked the notion of losing so grand a source of amusement. And so he concluded to rid her entirely of whatever remaining social inhibitions she may have still held to. At least, then, she could serve a more _constructive_ purpose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: **

"The tape you wanted, Jim."

The police commissioner jumped, startled by the sound of another voice in the room.

"Jesus Christ Batman!" He breathed, placing a hand on his heart. "Do you always have to sneak up on an old man like that? I don't know how much more my heart can take and in a town like this, you never know who might come crawling through your window."

The vigilante ignored his complaint, walking around to the front on the commissioner's desk, gently placing a disk down.

"It's there." He said.

Jim reached across, taking the disk in his hand, examining it for only a moment before looking up to the masked man.

The commissioner eyed the vigilante, his face relaxing.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I sometimes forget just how much you mean to this city and its safety."

Batman said nothing.

The commissioner sighed.

"What's troubling you friend?" Jim asked.

Batman was clearly agitated, moodier even then usual.

"Joker's been on the street for three months now, and all leads have gone cold. He keeps moving. He isn't staying in any one spot for more then a few days at this point."

"How do you know?"

"I know." Batman said. "No one's talking. They're scared."

Jim leaned back against his seat, folding his hands behind his head.

"Alonzo Carmine…" The vigilante began again.

"Gone missing." Jim answered. "And all his men were found gunned down at that abandoned warehouse by the east side docks."

Batman nodded.

"You suspect Joker?"

"It was him."

"But why would he attack a low grad pusher like Carmine?"

"Why does The Joker do anything?" Batman asked back. "It could be for a number of reasons. It could be for no reason at all."

The vigilante sounded weary.

"I'm going on that. I'll see if I can find anything."

"We'll be on it too then." Jim replied, looking once more at the disc in his hands.

"Batman, I…" He looked up only to find himself again alone in his office.

He shook his head.

"Damn…"

"But Mistah J, I don't see why we gotta keep movin' like this!?"

Harley complained without reservation as she stuffed her various essentials in to a worn suitcase for what was the fourth time in as many weeks.

The Joker sighed, clearly exasperated.

"Because, Harley, my dear, as I've told you already, _numerous_ times, Batman is looking for me, and the longer we remain in any one place, the greater the chance of his succeeding."

"But we've only been here two days Puddin'! He couldn't possibly kno…"

"Was it not you who ascertained my location not two weeks previous?"

"Well, sure Mistah J, but I was lookin' for a month before I found ya!"

"Now, consider those meager yet mildly effective detective skills of yours doll-face, and multiply them a thousand fold. What then do you have?"

Harley starred blankly back at him.

"That's right honey-cakes! You have a sleuth maybe half as adept as our friend the flying rodent! So, unless you much prefer the harsh, bright tile of your cell at Arkham to the warm, balmy air of downtown Gotham and the always pleasant company of yours truly, I suggest you continue to fill that hideous case you insist on lugging around with whatever jejune trinkets you posses and we be on our merry way!"

Harley gapped only momentarily before gauging the look in The Joker's eyes to be one menacing in nature, and she promptly resumed in packing, not speaking another word.

The Joker turned from her then, continuing to sift through the various newspaper clippings on the floor, spread out before him, each bearing some headline pertaining to him and his latest exploits. He loved to read about himself, loved to read the way in which the authors wrote of him. Sometimes keeping a professional tone, detached and neutral, but most often allowing their pharisaical ire to seep through. He had pondered that perhaps he should kill them all, but then thought better of it, reasoning that if, indeed, he rid the city of his propagators, there would be no one left to promote his genius to the masses, and that simply wouldn't do.

Still, it would be great fun.

"Sweetums, I've had an idea!" He said suddenly, loudly, turning to face her.

Her attention was immediately on him.

"Yeah Mistah J!?" She asked excitedly.

"I've decided I want to kill every local newspaper journalist to have written about me in the last year! I propose that now is as opportune a time to begin as any."

"Uh, Mistha J…" Harley began, a dumbfounded expression on her face. "Don't ya think that'll draw the Bat right to ya though?"

"Well, of course dear, but it will be ever so much fun!" The Joker answered, as though it should easily be reason enough for them to compromise their safety.

"But Mistah J, didn't you just say that…"

"Harlequin…" The Joker cut her off. "You're welcome to accompany me, or you can instead embark elsewhere, on your own. It, frankly, matters to me not in the least. I can, however, assure you that you would indeed be missing out something of a splendid time."

Harley had never said 'no' to The Joker before. She wondered what he might do if she actually did. Really, she didn't want to find out. He was telling her she could go, that he didn't care, but who could ever tell if he was being honest? He was a miraculous liar, and more often then not, when he requested something of her, what that really meant was he _demanded_ it. He just had an extremely polite and sophisticated way of going about his orders. And truthfully, she didn't want to leave anyway. Mistah J, after all, was all she had.

But he had been correct earlier. Batman was on their trail, and this surely would ensure their quick return to Arkham. Upon considering what he had said before, she really _didn't_ feel like going back to that awful place.

"But Mistah J, don't you…"

She was cut abruptly short by his coming quickly towards her and striking her across the face. Immediately she fell backward, nearly losing her balance. He always hit so hard, and she cupped her cheek instinctively, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You whining ninny!" He exploded. "Do you not understand a word I say to you!? Can you _possibly_ be a _stupid _as you appear?!"

Harley just starred back, her vision blurred by tears, her lower lip trembling.

"You _sicken_ me Harley. It is beyond any comprehension why I continue to tolerate your presence. You drive me to absolute madness!"

She drew back as he stepped towards her again, bracing for another blow when he stopped, his eyes growing wide, gleaming, and he began suddenly to laugh, as if something humorous had only just occurred to him.

And his laughter grew until tears of his own streamed from his eyes and his sides ached from the intensity of it.

Harley, meanwhile, had backed further away, fearful that, at any moment, he might resume his threatening approach.

"Oh Harlequin…" The Joker finally managed when at last his hysterics began to subside. "_That's _why I keep you around."

She starred at him, confused.

"Huh?" She managed, still afraid.

He waved a hand, struggling to control his now periodic fits of giggles.

"Co-come along sweets." He said. "We've business to attend."

She watched as he turned away, still chuckling, gathering up his hat and cane, making after for the hideouts exit.

She stood stupefied for several moments before her brows shot up and she gasped.

"Wait for me Mistah J!" She called, running forward, taking her suitcase up as she moved past it, following after him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

They stood outside a complex of high-rise apartment units in uptown Gotham, starring towards the buildings top.

"Arne Goldstein. A Jew. How cliché." The Joker spoke, more to himself then to Harley. He reached his hand out and she handed him an index card, which bore several names and address he had quickly compiled and written down.

"Oh my, such a _high up_ apartment." He said, examining the card. "408. I'll bet he thinks the locations inconvenience keeps him safe from the city's… undesirables, eh Harlequin?" He laughed.

"Yeah Mistah J." She laughed with him. "I'll bet he does. What a mook!"

"Well, we know better, don't we darling? Let's go then, shall we?"

She nodded enthusiastically as they moved to the front entrance.

"Looks like one of them secure building Mistah J." She noted. "Want I should break the glass with my mallet?"

"Oh yes, and trip the alarm in the process. The police of course would be here before we ever made it to Mr. Goldstein, which in turn would ruin the night's further activities. Brilliant, as always Harley." He spoke to her condescendingly.

She blushed beneath the grease paint she wore.

"Well how're gonna get in Puddin'?"

He smiled.

"Simple as you my love. We disable the door locks."

She looked perplexed.

"And how're gonna do _that_?!"

He laughed.

"My goodness, you _are_ unthinking!" He answered. "For one who was once in the employ of my dear, sweet home away from home, I should think you aware of my more then adequate ability in handling locks of varying types."

She said nothing, but simply watched as he approached the electronic keypad beside the entrance, bending down so that he was eye level with the thing, and before even being able to tell what it was he had done, she saw the outer casing had been removed and he was fiddling rapidly with the wires within. The next thing she knew, she heard a beep and an instant following, the door locks sounded, and The Joker stood, pressing a hand against the entrances metal handle, swinging it open.

"Come along Harley-dear." He instructed, striding through.

She smiled. "_What a genius_." She thought, sighing.

Upon entering the lobby, they spotted a night watchman, lazily watching a 10" TV set he had set up in the glass covered booth he sat within.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "I wonder if they find these dullards all in once place?" He spoke to Harley, and she giggled.

They strode without hesitation to the booth, the man inside not noticing their presence until they were nearly upon him.

"Excuse me my good man, I was wondering if you could assist us. You see, it would appear my companion and I are both a bit lost, and if you would be so kind as direct us to unit 408, we would certainly be most grateful."

The man's eyes grew wide and he fumbled clumsily for the telephone which sat beside the TV.

"Now, now Sir, that isn't very amicable." The Joker grinned. "All we wanted was directions."

The man managed to get the phone off the receiver and he shakily began to dial a number, never taking his eyes off the madman before him.

The Joker sighed.

"Oh well. You try to be nice and look what it gets you." He said shrugging, pulling a gun from his coat's inside pocket. The weapon was equipped with a silencer and the man scarcely had time to scream before he was shot, the most noise coming from the glass of the booth shattering.

The Joker then jumped atop the desk behind the now broken window and to the floor, bending down.

Harley watched and listened as cabinets were opened and papers went flying in different directions. At last The Joker stood, holding a thick binder, and he opened it, flipping through the pages quickly.

"408… 408…" He said, running a finger down a page in the book. "Ah. Here it is! Floor eighteen."

And he then tossed the binder over his shoulder, letting it land clumsily to the floor.

"Come Harley. Mr. Goldstein awaits our arrival."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

The elevator was fast and The Joker and Harley were soon on the 18th floor of the complex.

"408 dear." He reminded, letting Harley walk ahead.

She gasped loudly, suddenly.

"Here it is Mistah J!" She squeaked. And he smiled, walking smoothly to the spot she pointed.

"Ah, so it is!" He exclaimed. "Very good sweety-pie."

Harley beamed at his approval, watching as he wrapped against the door with his cane. It was fairly late, nearly midnight, and no answer came.

"Must be asleep, the dear." The Joker smiled. "What say we try to liven the place up a bit Harley-hon?"

"Lets!" She jumped with excitement.

At that, The Joker took a paperclip from out his pocket and easily picked the lock. Pushing the door open, it came to a sudden halt and The Joker began to giggle.

"Door chain sweetness. Can you believe? We'll surely have great fun with this one!"

"Hmm." Harley's face twisted in to a frown. "Let me handle this one Mistah J!" She said, moving forward. He obliged her, letting her past, and watched in amusement as she pushed with all her strength against the door.

She struggled for several seconds before he intervened.

"I like your approach doll-face. Allow me." He said, stepping forward, reaching through the crack, grabbing hold of the thin chain and pushing it forward while leaning his weight against the door. In moments the chain ripped from its hinges and the door swung open.

"Ah, an alarm system as well." The Joker immediately noticed the small panel just inside the entrance, flashing red.

"A moment." He said, approaching the device with great precisian and speed, as he had the keypad outside the building. And also as had been outside, the alarm was disable within seconds.

"_Seesh, no wonder he's always escapin' from Arkham_." Harley thought to herself, watching him work. She hadn't the faintest clue what he was doing or how he was doing it, but it was working wonders. She wouldn't be surprised at that point, she thought, to see him break in or out of the highest security buildings in the world, it seemed he was that smooth and that good at disabling locks and alarms.

"Now, let's locate our paranoid playmate." He whispered to her, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Harley followed closely behind as he navigated through what looked to be a well furnished apartment, though it was hard to tell in the dark. They checked several rooms near the back, each coming up empty. An exercise room, gathering dust, a study, another room filled with computers, books and papers scattered about.

"Typical. The last room down the hall. You would think for safety purposes, one would want to be closer located to the exit." The Joker mused, chuckling lightly.

And he was right, as they pushed open the door to the final room, at the end of the hall, they came upon the resident's bedroom, and there he was, lying asleep on a giant, plush looking mattress.

The Joker barely could contain his excitement, covering his mouth with a hand to stifle the laughter threatening to erupt from his throat.

"You stand by the door Harley. If Mr. Goldstein attempts to escape, I fully expect you capable of obscuring his path." He instructed.

"Rightio Mistah J!" She complied, performing a military salute.

He grinned, patting her gently on the head before making his way to the sleeping journalist.

The room was dark, the only real visibility provided by an obscured moon through a crack in the windows curtains, and The Joker cut an intimidating silhouette against the muted light, surreal looking in his height and thinness.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey." The Joker touched his cane lightly to Goldstein's nose. The man stirred, waving at his face as though some insect were buzzing around him, and The Joker looked at him with curiosity.

"Come now Mr. Coldbean, it becomes fun only provided you're aware of your impending doom." He spoke more loudly then usual, again tapping the sleeping man's nose with his cane. This time he stirred more violently, swatting at the air with exasperation.

"Go away!" He mumbled.

"Hmmm." The Joker stood back, examining his soon to be victim. "I do believe Arnie thinks us unwelcome guests to his quaintly modest surroundings. I must confess, the slight rather hurts. What say you, Harley dear?"

"Hurt's like a skinned knee Mistah J!" She answered giddily.

"Indeed." He said, again bending down, closer to the still sleeping man. "Well, I think it only fair we let Mr. Selfish know of our displeasure at his un-neighborly attitude. After all, as they tell us back at Arkham, awareness of a personal problem is the first step towards its amendment. And rudeness is such an awful affliction to suffer."

The Joker placed a hand upon Goldstein's shoulder and shook him, gently.

Finally, the man's eyes began to open, slowly, and he starred up, half dazed and struggling to focus.

The Joker grinned down at him.

"Good evening Mr. Goldstein." He began softly. "We're so glad you could join us."

It would be several moments longer before the journalize became cognizant of his not being alone, and instinctively he shot up, his heart rate, very quickly and very drastically, increasing as he pushed back along the sheets of his bed. He starred ahead at The Joker with a look of pure astonishment and disbelief, his eyes wide, his mouth gapping, and after some seconds, his expression began to morph in to one of utter horror as it dawned on him just who he was looking at, and that the situation wasn't, as he had hoped, a dream at all.

"My word Mr. Goldstein, you look as if you've seen a ghost!" The Joker exclaimed. "I am no spirit, I assure you, though I understand how the white of my skin may cause you to think so."

"How did you get in here!?" The journalist finally managed, after feeling his voice had gone from fear, fear which was increasing with each moment past, as he came to more clearly realize his position.

"Oh!" The Joker sighed, standing to his full height, raising his arms above his head. "Of course you would advance the question initially. After taking such _extensive_ precautions to _ensure_ your own safety, how anyone could enter your apartment without your previous consent must indeed be a query to befuddle the brain. It is awful, isn't it? The realization that you aren't safe? Not in any place or at any time? That, no matter what steps you take, no matter what measures, someone or something, somewhere, can end your life, just like that!?" The Joker snapped his fingers loudly. "And that, not only is this possible, but even probable? Safety, or rather, the _concept _of safety, Arnie, my boy, is but an illusion, created and wielded as a weapon of sorts, utilized for both monetary gains and the power of control. You see, promise to people an assurance of protection, instill in them absolute faith that, in adhering to a certain set of standards and rules, their preservation is nothing short of guaranteed, and you would be amazed at how quickly they fall in to line and obey." The Joker was gesturing theatrically now. "Anything to keep from living in fear. Oh, people do abhor the notion. And understandably so. Fear is a painful state to endure. You Arnie, you bought in to this concept of security. You truly believed that, in purchasing a condo situated in one of the lesser crime ridden districts of Gotham, one which boasted a _supposedly_ impenetrable security system, and just for good measure, a night watchman to stand guard in the front lobby, and by double locking your door, and having installed an alarm system from ADT, that you've actually made yourself more safe then, say, a derelict living on the street. Most people suffer this unfortunate delusion, so you've really no reason to feel any _more_ foolish then the remaining general public. But worry not, my ink happy friend, for I, The Joker, bearer of unequivocal truths, have come to break you of the bounds of such prevarications, and show you the light of reality."

The Joker smiled as the journalist appeared frozen in fear, sweat having formed heavily on his brow and above his lip.

"Am I right Harley?" The madman asked, turning to his girl.

"As always Mistah J!" She answered enthusiastically.

He grinned again, moving to face his target once more, stepping suddenly towards him. At this, Goldstein started, thrusting his hand beneath his pillow. His mind had been racing as The Joker went on in his monolog. Arnie was the paranoid type. Living in a city like Gotham only served to fuel this mind set. And so not only did he live in a high rise, what he had _thought _was secure apartment complex, and not only had he had installed a security system in his own unit, but he also kept a loaded gun hidden under his pillow at night, and that weapon was what he was now reaching for.

"Ahh, ahh Arnold!" The Joker chastised, brining his cane up lightening quick and striking the thing hard against the journalist's reaching arm. The man yelped in pain, instantly forgetting his target, grabbing for his now throbbing limb. "Is that any way to treat your guests? And that bethinks me, Harley and I were meaning to complain over your, plainly, _boorish_ reception. Such impertinence is most unbecoming deary. It may one day land you in some trouble."

"Yeah, ya big meanie!" Harley joined in.

The man looked to her, his eyes startled, and he now began to visibly shake.

"Oh God, p-please don't kill me." He began, his voice pleading.

The Joker's brow furrowed.

"By why ever do you think we should want to kill you Arnie?"

"Y-you're The J-Joker!" He stuttered.

"Ah, my reputation precedes me, as always. But assumption is a dangerous engagement, sure expectancy a fatuous thing. You should never presuppose anything Arnie, never anticipate a thing to be the same tomorrow as it was today."

"You're… you're not going to kill me then?" The man dared to ask, a hint of hope in his voice.

"Well of course I am!" The Joker exclaimed, laughing suddenly.

"But… but y-you said…"

"I said nothing Arnold, nothing as to my intentions towards you."

The journalist felt a massive shock of panic race through him, and in the rush of adrenaline, again reached for his gun, only to find himself once more halted by the same hard object cracking him, this time across the face. He fell backward, his head spinning, white light exploding and then dancing in his eyes.

The Joker stood, with his cane reared back, looking down at the now disoriented man, smiling.

"Arnie! What did I just tell you!?" The Joker scolded him like a child. "You _do_ need to work on that. Rudeness can be _such_ a killer!" He laughed uproariously at his own joke, the rest of the room as silent as before, and then his hysterics ceased, and he glared at Harley abruptly.

"Oh, uh… hahaha! Mistha J, you're such a funny guy!" She stammered, trying to sound genuine in her amusement.

He smiled.

"Yes Harley, I am." He said. "Come here and take Mr. Goldstein's weapon, will you?"

The girl didn't hesitate, jumping to action at his request.

The journalist was only just starting to come around from the blow to his face, and he began sluggishly to push himself up on to his hands and knees. Harley didn't think twice of reaching across him and under his pillow, taking the gun there. He seemed only to notice her after she had pulled back from him, and he jumped suddenly, startled.

"S-stay back. G-get away from me!" He stumbled over his words.

"What's he squakin' about Puddin'?!" She looked to The Joker with a confused expression.

"Mr. Foulfeind, I'm sorry to say Harley, is merely in a state of denial as to his current predicament. You see, he continues to harbor the ridiculous notion that, somehow, there still is some possibility he may emerge from this situation with his life. I do so dislike having to crush your remaining hope Arnie..." He laughed. "But I'm afraid the only chance you have of escaping this particular dilemma is if that loon who dresses as a bat comes crashing through your window. Now, the Batman may be capable of many things, things which may seem unnatural and even fantastical to someone such as yourself, but I assure you, being in all the right places at all the right times is _not_ among his abilities. And you should know, Mr. Facecream."

Arnie was breathing hard, the sweat having accumulated more heavily on his forehead.

"What do you… what do you want? Money? I can… I can get you money. I have it saved up, nearly a million."

The Joker laughed.

"Oh, dear, sweet Arnie! I have more money then what you can even conceive of. And tell him what I do with that money Harley, my love."

"He burns it, ya door knob, or flushes it down the toilet." She gleefully answered, looking the petrified journalist in the face.

"That's right honey bear. That's what I do Arnie. The rest I use to purchase certain materials. You know, guns, such as this sleek little number here." And he pulled an automatic from his inside pocket. The one he had used on the night guard. "Flash powder, C4, chemicals of varying sorts, hired help, anything to help advance my art. And, of course, one wants always to look his best when performing for the public. So I use a little to fashion myself in the most classic, yet cutting edge and distinctive styles possible, such as the gorgeous outfit you see me now sporting." He stepped back, holding his arms out to give a better view of the expensive looking suit. "I had it tailored to my exact specifications. Beautiful, isn't it?"

The man just starred ahead, saying nothing.

"I really despise people who have no sense of fashion, or who lack a discerning eye for fine things." The Joker continued. "But, let's move back to the matter at hand. Even if you were capable of offering some grotesque sum of cash, no amount of _any _currency could _ever_ best the sheer delight derived from watching you die. You see, Arnie, I've met many a millionaire, and even billionaire, under nearly identical circumstances to how we now meet, and they've proffered to me money, the same as you, only in far grander, far more obscene quantities, and my reply was the same to them as it is to you. They thought my clemency was for purchase, that they could bargain back their lives. They learned otherwise _very_ quickly. So, if a clear enough picture has yet to be drawn for you, let me put it simply. Your money means nothing to me, but your death, Arnie, your death means for me pleasure. And what is life good for if not for delectation?"

"P-please." The man began to beg. "I-I'm a writer, I write for-for The Gotham Gazette. I could… I could write articles about you! Positive articles. Try to get the public to sympathize with you!"

Again The Joker laughed.

"And find yourself among the unemployed double quick my lad. What purpose would it serve? If the _idiocy_ prevalent among the masses has thus far prevented them from getting the joke, then the loss is theirs to count, Mr. Goldstein, not my own."

"Oh God, please, don't. Th-there must be something, _something_ you want. Something I can give you!?"

"I want your death, Mr. Goldstein." The Joker grinned and his eyes shined with cruelty as he moved forward.

"N-no, please! Stop!" The journalist scrambled back across the sheets. "Please stop! God, HELP ME! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!" He began to scream at the top of his lungs as The Joker continued to encroach, the smile never leaving his face.

"No one can hear you Arnie." He said softly, reaching in to his pocket, pulling from it a straight razor.

The man didn't seem to hear him as he continued to scream for help, his voice cracking with the strain, and finally he reached the edge of the mattress, falling clumsily to the floor. He rose up, weak kneed, and saw The Joker still coming for him, the same pace, the same expression. He began to move away, around the bed, feeling as though, at any moment, his legs would give out on him and he again would fall. Yet somehow, he was able to will himself to run as he made a dash for the door, knocking a lamp to the ground on his way.

"Stop him Harley." The Joker ordered calmly, and she complied, springing towards the wobbling journalist, chasing him down with ease and bringing him down with a swift sweep of the legs.

Again, the man tried to rise, but before he could reach his feet, The Joker was upon him, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt. He continued to scream, but no one came and The Joker forced him, with what seemed remarkable ease, back to the bed, even as the journalist kicked and punched and fought, and quickly the man found himself lifted off the ground and slammed down, hard, against the mattress. And just as swiftly, The Joker bent down against him, pinning his flailing arms above his head, jamming a bony knee in to his stomach, and the madman's face was mere centimeters from his now, grinning wildly.

"Such spirit Arnie!" He said. "I _am_ impressed."

Goldstein was crying now, tears filling his eyes and falling down his face without abandon.

"Please…" He pleaded weakly. "Please let me go…"

The Joker shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, silly boy!" He said. "We haven't finished the game yet!"

And then he released one of Arnie's arms, and the man didn't hesitate to strike at The Joker with it, hitting and thrashing against the maniac, against his face and his chest and his arms. And The Joker laughed, letting the journalist strike him.

"That's it Arnie!" He erupted in hysterics. "Hit me! Hit me as hard as you possibly can! Oh, the pain is exquisite!"

Goldstein fought desperately, balling his hand in to a fist, smashing it with all his strength in to The Joker's face, against his jaw, and more and more the man grew distressed as The Joker's laughter simply became stronger, even as blood began to run from his mouth and nose, until finally the journalist grew weak and he could no longer lift his arm to lash out.

"Goodness! Is that all dear?" The Joker looked disappointed. "How utterly displeasing. Why, I've assailed pampered, rich girls who put on a better show of endurance then you Arnie. Hit harder too. And after such a _promising _start!" He shook his head. "You're going to give writers everywhere a bad name with such a poor account of yourself." He reprimanded. "Simply unacceptable."

He leaned in closer to the still crying man, brining the gleaming razor to his face, running it flat side along his cheek, gently.

"Shh, shh, shh." The Joker shushed him. "It will all be over soon." His voice was soothing and quieted. "No more pain."

Goldstein's eyes had been pressed shut, and at last he opened them, looking up in to the lunatics bright eyes.

"P-please, d-don't do this." He begged.

And The Joker just smiled a sweet smile.

"No more pain Arnold." He said again, in that same, soft voice, before abruptly turning the razor on its edge and dragging it hard across the man's face.

Goldstein cried out in pain as the blood began to seep quickly from the wound, and The Joker brought the blade to the other cheek, repeating the motion, so that now two, identically clean, long cuts ran along either side of his face.

"Stop… stop… oh God, pl-please stop." The journalist sobbed.

But The Joker did not as he continued to rapidly and efficiently make dozens and dozens of similar, smaller incision's all about the face, until it looked as if the man wore a crimson mask.

And then he slid the blade, flat sided, along Goldstein's throat, down, until he reached the top of his chest.

The journalist again began to struggle, tossing about, trying to push the madman off of him. But The Joker didn't allow for it this time, releasing Arnie's other arm and striking him hard against the face with the back of his now free hand, repeating the vicious motion until the man ceased to resist, and the lunatic again resumed his work with the blade, turning it once more to its edge and slicing down the center of Goldstein's thorax, splitting the thin, cotton undershirt, drawing a line of blood down to above his navel, though the cut was shallow.

"Let's make a pretty star." The Joker spoke softly, drawing the razor now to one side of the man's chest and dragging it along until a cross was made by the incisions, and then repeating the motion in a diagonal line from his shoulder to his hip, and again on the other side, until a star shape was achieved by the wounds.

"Oh God… Oh God…" The journalist was mumbling incoherently now and seemed to be in a state of delirium. His shirt was cut to pieces and his exposed chest and stomach now matched the same red of his face.

"God resides not in this place Arnold." The Joker answered him, leaning off of the bleeding man for a full view, looking down to examine his work.

"Very nice." He nearly whispered. "Harley, did you bring our camera?" He asked more loudly.

"Uh…" Harley stood back. The whole thing was creeping her out, just a little.

"No Mistah J. You left in such a hurry that I… I forgot it." She answered meekly, fearful of his reaction.

"Well, that's too bad." He said calmly. "I would like to have taken pictures, for the memories you understand?"

"Y-yeah Puddin'. I'm sorry." She apologized, relieved he hadn't become angry.

He waved a hand.

"No need dear. They'll be further opportunities. Perhaps we'll go back for it when we're finished here."

"Sure thing Mistah J." She answered agreeably.

"Now let me see." He again spoke to himself, grasping his chin in one hand, pondering what more he could do to improve the work.

Goldstein, meanwhile, had begun to break from his dazedness, moving to get up and failing, falling back down. But again he tried, this time sitting up successfully, and he tried from there to stand.

The Joker's face twisted to an expression of agitation, and he walked swiftly to the struggling man, backhanding him hard so that he again fell to his back.

Suddenly the lunatics eyes lit up.

"I know!" He exclaimed, reaching to his inside pocket, pulling a deck of cards out, all joker's.

"This will be perfectly splendid." He spoke with excitement in his voice, turning the cards one over the other in the one hand that held them, before splaying them and picking a single from the deck.

"Whatcha gunna do Mistah J?" Harley asked, though she hesitated to do so.

"Leaving my mark, sweetness. I wouldn't want some second-stringer like Zsaz taking the credit for my masterpiece."

"But, isn't he in Ark…"

"Shh, shh." The Joker waved her off, bending down over the journalist with the card between his fingers and burying it edge first in to one of the open wounds along the man's torso.

Harley grimaced and looked away, feeling as though she were going to be sick, and Goldstein cried out in pain.

"AHHH! Oh God, s-stop, s-stop!" He screamed.

"No, I don't think I want to Arnie." The Joker ignored his pleas, taking another card from the deck and doing the same with it as he had the first one, and repeating the action until the entire deck ran along the cuts, tracing the star pattern, creating a 3-Dimentional effect.

"Now isn't that lovely Harl?" He asked, his tone bright.

The clown-clad girl forced herself to look, her eyes squinting, and she was sure she might wretch.

"Y-yeah Puddin'. Real nice." She said.

"I think so." The Joker nodded. "Like one of those stencil toys they make, you know, the ones that make all of those enchanting, colorful swirling patterns."

"Yeah Mistah J. I had one when I was little." Harley confirmed she knew what he was referring to.

"It's too bad about that camera." He said again, sounding sad.

Harley flinched at the disappointment in his voice.

"Ah, c'est la vie." He shrugged. "Accomplissons le travail alors, n'est-ce pas ?"

Harley looked at him with confusion. "Huh?" She asked. He didn't bother to repeat himself in English, instead bending down again and holding the straight razor to Goldstein's neck.

The journalist was again disoriented, his head falling from side to side as he mumbled to himself.

"Goodnight et au revoir monsieur Goldstien. Votre propogation de ma brillance sera fortement manqué." The Joker spoke fluidly, pressing the blades tip below the man's ear, pushing down hard, and dragging it with the same, even pressure across the entire length of his throat, ear to ear. The wound appeared at first as only a thin, red line, little beads of blood collecting along it, and the journalist began to gurgle and spit, a terrible slurping nose coming from him.

"One more touch to finish it off." The Joker turned the razor with flair, sticking the blade to the inside corner of Goldstein's mouth and dragging it up and along his cheek, doing the same to the other side so that it created what could be called a permanent grin. The action had caused the journalists head to tip back and the wound along his throat opened up like a gapping mouth, blood pouring out in waves.

"Two smiles for the price of one!" The Joker laughed.

Harley felt certain she was going to hurl and turned away from the sight.

The room fell silent for several seconds, The Joker just starring at the now lifeless body of Arnie Goldstein, Harley covering her mouth, afraid of losing dinner.

"Ah! Let's be on our way then!" The Joker broke the silence, tossing the razor aside and clasping his hands together.

Harley nodded, though said nothing and watched as her Puddin' looked about.

"Now where did I put that cane?"

"Over there Mistah J. By the bed." Harley pointed to the left side of the mattress.

"Oh!" Thank you darling." He exclaimed, smiling a boyish grin at her, before striding to where his cane lay and taking it up.

"_Now_ we may depart."

And he moved out of the bedroom, down the short hallway, to the front door, Harley following closely behind.

The building was as empty and as quiet as it had been upon entering and they made it down the elevator and to the street outside without encountering so much as another soul.

"Thanks for letting us up!" The Joker had called over his shoulder to the dead watchman before the pair shuffled out, in to the night air.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

"Who shall we visit next?" The Joker mused aloud, reaching his hand out, expecting Harley to hand him the list of names he had compiled. But after several seconds of feeling no object in his hand, he turned to her.

"The list Harley. Give me the list."

"Uh, Mistah J, I was thinkin', ya know. Maybe we shouldn't just run off and do another one, ya know. I mean, we could…" Her voice was small and she looked intimidated and unsure.

The Joker looked at her with a questioning expression.

"I just mean… uh, ya know…" Harley stammered, trying to recover herself.

The Joker snapped his fingers suddenly.

"Oh yes! That's it! The camera." He exclaimed. "We forgot the camera! Thank you for reminding me dear. First we'll go to gather it and then be on to our next victim." And he twirled his cane like a baton, beginning to walk away, towards their car, hidden in a back alley, only 2 blocks from where they stood.

"Uh, t-that's not exactly what I meant Puddin'." Harley halted him. "I meant, uh…"

The Joker spun around, glaring down at her, his eyes intense and unblinking.

"I kinda, sorta meant, ya know, maybe we could take a break. Relax maybe. Get somthin' to eat."

She giggled nervously as he continued to pin her with his stare, his expression serious, his mouth twisted in to a frown. And they remained like that for what seemed minutes, though it was only seconds. And suddenly he threw his head back, laughing loudly.

"Oh Harley, you do crack me up!" He said. "_Such_ a kidder! So, the camera, and then… well, let me have the list so we can see who will next host us."

She frowned. "No, I'm serious Puddin'. Can't we do somethin' else for a while, just for a little bit?"

The Joker leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, starring at her with an incredulous expression.

"I mean, just for a little while." Harley finished meekly.

"Are you not… _enjoying _yourself Harley?"

"No! Of course I am Puddin', I just thought, ya know, after so much work, we could take a load off for a while, kick back a little, maybe do somethin' a little less… intense? Maybe somethin' more lighthearted and fun?"

…

He smiled at her, but the smile was unkind, the kind he wore when harboring malicious intent.

"But I can think of no activity more lighthearted and _fun_ then the one in which we only _just_ were engaged… darling." He said lowly, taking a step towards her. "_Why_ would I want to bother with something so mundane as I'm certain the pursuits you would endeavor to immerse yourself in will be?"

"Uh…" Harley took a step back. "It's just… it was kinda gross Puddin', and I thought…"

"Gross?" The Joker's brow shot up. "Gross?" He repeated, his tone perplexed. "I fail to see any aspect of what we just did as… gross." He leaned back slightly. "All things must die. Whether by means of violent attack or something less notable, something dreary, a "natural" death as they like to call it, the result remains the same. And in any event, _all _death is natural. If you cut in to a person's jugular, they _naturally_ will lose large quantities of blood, and thus _naturally_ will die. And so how is this different from, say, one's liver failing them from years of wear? It isn't. To differentiate between causes in such a way really holds no relevance, as death always is unavoidable. No matter how you meet it, you _will_ meet it. No amount of pretending it to be non-existent or ignoring its approach will change that fact. Death is not _gross_, Harley. It is beautiful. As beautiful a thing as this world has to offer. Just as there is no emotion expressed in the human face as beautiful as the emotion of fear. These things are unadulterated, free of any sort of ridiculous intellectualization or rationalization, without compromise or pretense. If you want to see who a person truly is, Harley, if you want to cut away all of the exterior and protective barriers they put in place, you scare them dear, create in them genuine fright. And you accomplish this by forcing them to face death, the one thing they go throughout their lives trying desperately to avoid. You _show_ them that it is real and that they _will not_ escape it. There is no impurity left then. And it is impurity which is _gross_ Harley. The hypocrisy of people, their attempts to deny what they are. Much as _you_ did, my sweet. That is what is _disgusting_."

Harley starred at him wide eyed for a long moment, not certain of how to react. She knew if she said the wrong thing, he might fly off the handle. She thought maybe she shouldn't say anything at all. But the prospect of having to go through what they just had, twice in one night, seemed to her incredibly unappealing.

"G-gee Mistah J…" She began, "I just thought…"

She stopped abruptly and flinched when she saw The Joker rear his hand back, clearly ready to strike her. And he was about to do just that when he himself was stopped from it, distracted by a sudden, loud ruckus behind them, the voices of several young people, laughing and hollering, obviously intoxicated. And in the next instant, the two of them were surrounded by a throng of what appeared to be college students.

"Hey, hey! Look at this guy!" One boy, taller then the rest, slurred loudly before taking hold of The Joker's arm roughly.

Harley looked absolutely horrified, and The Joker looked down at the boy with a flash of disgust in his eyes.

"Yeah, nice outfit man." Another one interjected, a girl. "Looks real and everything." She went on, getting within an inch of the madman, coming only up to his chest, starring at that point on him for several, long seconds, as if trying to discern some pattern in the waste coat he wore.

The other three of the group, two young men and a girl the same age, joined in on the examination, crowding around The Joker, touching him with curiosity and taking hold of his arms and hands.

"Yeah, we seen some Joker outfits man. But this ones the best. Look at that make-up job!" Another boy exclaimed, reaching up and touching The Joker's face. The other four all looked up in wonder at the lunatic's visage, also boldly touching it.

"And the hair! Haha! Look at the hair dude!" Another among them pointed out.

The troupe ooed and ahhed at the observation.

"But yo, dude, you're like, WAY tall!" The first boy spoke, reaching up to hold his hand over The Joker's head. "I hear the real Joker's, like, a total shrimp."

"Yeah, that's what I heard too!" The second girl joined in. "What's he s'poused to weigh anyway? Like, 140 lb. or somethin'?"

"Yeah! I bet he ain't even that tough. I don't know why everyone's so scared a'him. I bet Robby here would beat that ass _easy_." Another boy added.

"Yeah, that psycho's lucky he's never met my man!" The first girl clung to Robby's arm, making obvious they were an item. "He better hope he never does neither." And she looked up at him with admiration in her eyes.

"Yeah." Robby laughed. "If I ever ran in to that clown, I'd kick his ass so hard, I'd make em' wish he'd never been born."

Harley looked to The Joker, who held an expression she had come to know all too well. The kind that told her she better leave the room that instant or risk never leaving it again. The intruders, however, were simply too buzzed to take note of anything so subtle.

"And hey, who's this s'poused to be!?" One of them turned to Harley, grabbing her by the arm.

"Oh, uh…" The second girl's face twisted in thought. "I know, that's uh… aw shit, I can't remember her name. But that crazy chick who used to be a psychologist or somethin' and The Joker turned her nutso, and now she's like some sorta deranged groupie who follows him around like a lost puppy."

"Is that who your s'poused to be!?" Robby's girl nearly screamed at Harley.

Harley ground her teeth, and now it was her turn to assume a homicidal expression. "Why I oughta'…" She breathed.

But The Joker stopped her, putting his hand up and giving just one shake of the head.

"Are you two really together!?" The third boy asked. "Halloween ain't for another couple months. Why you two dressed up like that anyway?"

Suddenly The Joker smiled a bright smile, any semblance of his previous irritation at once disappearing from his face.

"Oh, you know darlings, just out for a little fun, doubtless the same as you. Only my partner and I enjoy activities of a more… _unusual_ variety. Donning costume and make-up to appear as this city's _so called_ super criminal element is just one of many ways in which we pass the hours. Perhaps a tad bemusing, to creatures of your ilk, but we find it quite titillating."

The group of students looked dumbstruck at The Joker, saying nothing for many seconds.

"Geez mister, you talk funny." One of them at last blurted.

"Bunch a morons." Harley mumbled under her breath.

"Hey! What did you say!?" The second girl spun around, glaring at Harley.

The Joker chuckled softly.

"Oh, you'll forgive my clown-clad counterpart. You see, I do believe you've brought her insult by talking so poorly of Ms. Quinn. That is the young woman you spoke of as being seduced by The Joker."

"Oh!" The girl said dumbly. "Well, whatareya, related to her or somethin'?"

Harley looked on the verge of ringing each of the student's necks, but The Joker again intervened.

"No, no. Nothing so calculable. You see, this little lady and I are great fans of Ms. Quinn and The Joker."

"You mean, you actually like those freaks!?" Robby sounded shocked.

The Joker just smiled.

"Oh yes, we quite admire the pair. Why else, as your friend astutely noted, would be dress as them without prompting of occasion to do so?"

Harley stood back now, a smile on her face. She would just let Mistah J handle this, and she felt a tingle of excitement as her mind raced with what he might do.

"That's weird mister. I mean, ain't that Joker dude some kinda crazy serial killer or somethin'?"

"Yes Robby. Yes, he is." The Joker answered, his voice soft and low, a smile spreading over his lips.

Robby shrugged. "Well, I guess everybody got their quirks. If you like them loonies, that's up to you."

"Yes Robby, I suppose it is."

"Say, what happened to your face mister? It looks all beat up and shit." Another of the boys asked.

"Hey, yeah!" One of the girls took notice. "And what's that on your cloths? Looks like blood or somethin'. You been in a fight mister?"

"No, not a fight dear. A struggle would be the more appropriate term."

The girl looked confused and she leaned in close to Robby.

"Hey, Robby…" She whispered. "This guys startin' to give me the creeps. Can we get outta here?"

"Sure sugar. In a minute." He answered.

"So a struggle, huh? What's that s'poused to mean man? Like someone jumped ya but ya got away?"

The Joker shook his head.

"No, rather the opposite my lad. It was I who did the jumping, while the other struggled, and sadly, they were unable to procure their escape."

The boy looked confused, as did his companions.

The Joker stepped nearer to him.

"So you like my make up, do you?" He asked. "It was quite the process applying it. Tortuous, really. Nearly killed me. No joke. Ah he, ah he, ahhehehehe."

He laughed suddenly, madly, his voice raising in pitch, causing the young group to jump slightly. The change from his speaking voice had been abrupt. He had sounded calm before, his voice quiet, soothing even. But his laughter was anything but. It was manic, uninhibited.

"L-let's get outta here Robby." One of the other boys said, and he sounded suddenly frightened.

"Yeah man, let's split." Another agreed.

"Uh, yeah, well, it was nice talkin' to ya mister, but we really gotta be going." Robby said, backing away with the rest of his friends.

"Oh, so soon?" The Joker leered at them. "But we've only just met and I was just beginning to really enjoy your company."

"Y-yeah mister, but we really gotta go. We… uh… we got a party we're s'poused to be at."

"Mmmm. A lie told well is as good as any truth. But a lie told clumsily may well be your last."

"What!? Look, mister, I don't know what your talking about, but we really gotta go."

"But I don't think you do." The Joker kept moving towards them. "In fact, I think you dunderheads have only just now come to sense the threat against your safety and instinctively wish to flee. It wounds me deeply that you seem not to want to familiarize yourselves with me."

"Let's just go dude!" One of the boys nearly yelled.

"Yeah. Okay. We're going mister. Bye."

And the group turned to leave, only to be met with Harley, who hadn't stepped from her spot.

"I'm afraid that option no longer is available." The Joker said. "You understand, yes? You've insulted my girlfriend and worse still, me. As well you've touched my beautiful face without proper consent. The least you can concede is a portion of your time."

"Oh God, Oh Jesus, he's really… he's really T-the Joker man. Oh Jesus Christ." One of the boys began.

"Oh, so you've at last worked that out? You must also realize then that stunning number behind you to be the infamous Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Though she'll answer only to Ms. Harley Quinn these days, isn't that right dearest?"

"Yeah, that's right Mistah J!"

"J-just back off man. S-stay away from us." Robby stuttered.

The Joker grinned.

"No." He said simply.

"W-we got you outnumbered man. J-just back the fuck off and w-we won't hurt you, okay?"

At this The Joker laughed.

"Oh my, _so_ rambunctious. Wasn't it you who said that if ever we met, you would, how did you phrase it again? Oh yes, that you would kick my ass. Isn't that right?"

The boy just starred at him.

"Well, I can hardly fault you for thinking so. The shrimp comment isn't entirely unfounded. As you can no doubt see, I am quite thin." The Joker un-cuffed the right sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up along with his suit jacket to expose a skinny, paper white limb. "Though not quite the emaciated 140 lb. the lovely lassie there thought me to be." He laughed. "I'll tell you what Robby, since I'm a man who believes in everyone deserving their fair shake, here's how it's going to play out. If you can, kick my ass, as you so claim, then I will allow you and your jolly jamboree to go unharmed. If not, well, I cannot vouch for a similar outcome." He chuckled.

Robby said nothing, his expression one of clear uncertainty.

"Oh, come along now. I promise a fair fight. And surely, a strapping young lad such as your self won't find this sad, old clown as presenting any _real _challenge."

"You… you wanna f-fist fight?" Robby stammered.

"Well, whatever you kids these days call it." The Joker waved a dismissive hand. "When I was your age we called it 'Whoever dies last wins', but, more or less, the concept remains the same."

"W-what?!"

"It's a joke son. Thus, the name." The Joker laughed.

Robby looked anything but amused.

"This… this is stupid." He said. "I don't wanna fight you."

"Oh, no? What of your earlier proclamation then?"

"I-I was just…"

"Oh, goodness, don't tell me you were just 'foolin' about', lest I have to answer back… 'I wasn't'."

"I-I I don't, I don't…"

The Joker sighed loudly, rolling his eyes.

"Damn it Foppy, you make this no fun at all." He said, reaching in to his jacket and pulling a pistol from it.

Almost immediately the girls screamed, and the boys could be heard gasping and asking God for help.

"Why must I always force these things?" The Joker continued, seemingly unaware of the sudden consuming fear now gripping the troupe of youngsters. "The game works this way dear. You play by my rules or you don't play at all. So what shall it be? Risk probable though not assured humiliation before your girlfriend and gaggle of fair-weathered friends, or instead watch them all die, one by one, meeting your own end shortly there to follow? Decisions, decisions. I know the choice is a difficult one to make, so do take your time Slobby."

"Jesus Christ man, just fight him!"

"Yeah, we're all gonna die if you don't Robby. Don't be a fuckin' pansy!"

"Oh my God Robby, you see how skinny he is. You play football, remember? You can totally kick his ass. Come on! Don't be scared!"

A literal chorus of voices erupted all at once, urging the boy to accept the challenge.

"Yeah, come on Blobby! I'll even be a good sport about it and give you the first shot free." The Joker clasped his hands together and grinned widely.

"I-I guess I d-don't have a choice." Robby finally said, the color having drained completely from his face.

"That a' boy!" The Joker clapped. "Now, you stand over there, and I'll stand over here, and we'll have at it!" He exclaimed, seeming, suddenly, very excited.

Robby didn't move but only starred ahead, watching as The Joker removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves and then began to bounce around on his feet, throwing punches in to the air like a boxer.

Harley, meanwhile, had begun to hoot and holler for him like some kind of personal cheerleader.

"Yeah Mistha J! You get em' good Puddin'!" She yelled out.

"Well, go _on_ Robby!" One of the other boys pushed him forward.

"Yeah man, you got us in to this. You _better_ get us out!" The second girl added.

"God damn it, you better not lose man."

Robby was literally having to be forced towards meeting The Joker, who seemed, while shadowboxing, like the consummate dork out a some Hollywood flick, just asking to have their ass beat. Only The Joker was tall, _really_ tall, and looked, despite his thin frame, incredibly strong, especially after having removed his coat, and the build of his physic was more obvious, long and lean and well proportioned. He had the look of someone who, while not heavily muscled, was nonetheless very coordinated, and could thus hit _extremely_ hard.

Robby was becoming more and more apprehensive.

"Just… get… in there Robby!" His girlfriend gave one last push, which finally brought the boy to within a few feet of where The Joker stood.

"Give me a J! Give me an O! Give me a K! Give me an E! Give me an R! What's that spell!? !" Harley was jumping up and down, her enthusiasm for The Joker seemingly boundless as she cheered him on.

The crowd of students had backed away from her, watching with immense anxiety as The Joker bounced up and down in front of their friend, flicking punches in his face. Robby kept flinching away as each punch came near to him.

Finally the madman ceased and began to speak again.

"Now kiddies, don't try and run off while me and Mr. Macho lacerate each other's faces. My lovely assistant wields a weapon of her own; and I, with great diligence and patience mind you, have lovingly endeavored to school her in the most charming and artful ways in which to use it. And use it she will, without pause, if one or any of you should try to break from the audience and take leave of tonight's entertainment before it reaches what promises to be it's dramatic conclusion."

Harley had taken her gun and aimed it now at the group, and all of them looked absolutely terror struck.

"So, Gobby." The Joker again clasped his hands together and smiled at the boy. "As promised, the first shot is yours to take. Who knows, maybe you'll find yourself lucky and that first blow will rob from me consciousness. You seem like a strong boy. I've taken, in the long history of my madness, some awful brutal beatings, and I fear my chin is not what once it was."

Robby seemed frozen to the spot while The Joker starred pointedly at him, his hands by his side.

"Whenever you're ready handsome!" The lunatic urged him on.

"Jesus Christ Robby, _hit him_!" His girlfriend screamed.

"Quiet you!" Harley shot back, causing the girl to jump.

The boy looked around him nervously. He clearly wished he could be anywhere but there at that moment, and his apprehension in hitting The Joker was more than apparent.

"We're waiting patsy." The Joker taunted him.

Robby looked at him, sweat having begun to form all along his face, his eyes wide and clear. Any signs of intoxication in him and his companions seemed now to be gone, their sobriety brought on by their fear.

"Y-you're not gonna k-kill me if I-I-I hit you?" He stuttered.

The Joker grinned.

"No, of course not." He answered.

The boy swallowed visibly.

"But make it a good one dear. Give me everything you've got. I'll know if pull your punches and I won't be pleased if you do."

"O-okay. Okay. I'm… I'm gonna hit you. Okay? I'm gonna do it!"

The Joker just continued to leer.

Robby breathed hard, and shakily, he brought his hands to a fighting position.

His friends seemed collectively to hold in their breath and the whole area around them went dead quiet.

Robby felt near of the verge of hyperventilation as he pulled his right arm back, and in that moment, it was, for him, as though time stood still, and what happened next, he wasn't even aware of. He couldn't remember throwing the punch, or feeling his fist connect with the madman's face. All he knew now was that The Joker was lying on the ground in front of him, and he could hear that crazy chick behind him, screaming, "Puddin'! Oh my God, are you alright!?" and his friend's yelling too, shouting 'Yeah's!' and 'Alright's!' and saying things like "Holy shit, you did it!'.

The boy looked back at them, a big smile on his face and relief in his eyes.

"I… I did it?" He asked.

"Fuck yeah man. You knocked that clown right on his ass! Look at that shit man!" One of his buddies hollered.

"I-I guess I did it." Robby laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, almost in embarrassment at his friend's enthusiasm.

"Aw man, wait'll the rest of the crew hears 'bout this!" Another of them laughed.

"Yeah. Yeah man." The rest joined in.

"I knew you could do it Robby. You're such a man!" His girlfriend bounced up and down.

Their layered chattering and exuberance, however, was short lived, coming to an abrupt halt by a sharp cackling. And as they turned to the noise, they saw The Joker wiping the back of his hand along his mouth and nose.

"Great shot Snobby!" The madman continued to laugh, pushing himself to his feet. "Why, I don't think I've been hit that hard since, well, since last week! Of course, it was me doing the hitting, so maybe that doesn't count?"

"Yeah Mistah J! Yeah!" Harley began to cheer again.

"_Oh God…_" Robby thought, a numbness running suddenly through his entire body. "_He got up. Oh God._"

"Now…" The Joker began again, dusting the dirt from his pants and waste coat. "Since we've gotten that little exhibition out of the way, let us resume properly." And he stepped towards the again horrified boy, smiling.

"… Hit me." He said quietly.

"W-what?" Robby stammered.

"Hit me." The Joker repeated.

"A-again?"

The Joker nodded.

Robby looked back to his friend's, unsure.

"You put him on his ass with one punch dude!" One of the boys said. "You can totally do it again. Come on man!"

"Y-yeah. You'll probably knock him out if-if you hit him enough man. And then we can get the hell outta here."

"That's right deary." The Joker egged him on. "Whatever are you waiting for?"

The boy swallowed hard, looking back to the madman.

"O-okay clown. Y-you want some more? Well, okay then."

The Joker smiled.

He had him now.

Suddenly, Robby reared a fist back and threw it with the same force as he had the one before, his eyes closing tight with the motion, expecting this time to feel the connect. But instead, his body stumbled forward and he nearly fell to his face when nothing but air was there to absorb the impact. He turned quickly, hearing The Joker's laughter behind him.

"Oh, surely you can do better then that!?" The Joker teased, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood, facing the boy from the side.

"What… how?"

"He side stepped you dude!" One of his friends called out.

"Much too easy too Robby. I should think a college football player would have better coordination than that." The Joker continued to mock him.

Robby ground his teeth, again lunging at the maniac, throwing a clenched fist. And again The Joker stepped aside, still with his arms crossed.

"You're showing me nothing here meaty." He continued to instigate the college student as he tumbled forward.

"I'll…" The boy began to sound agitated. "I'll show you coordination bozo!" He growled, once more lashing out at The Joker. And again The Joker easily avoided the blow.

This continued on for several minutes, Robby growing more and more fatigued and more and more exasperated with each missed attack. And The Joker continued to heckle and harass him, his insults growing crueler and more brutal by the minute, the worst and most embarrassing moment coming when, after another missed blow, as he leaned back, The Joker stuck out his leg, tripping the boy up so that he fell face first in to the pavement.

The madman laughed uproariously at the sight.

"God damn you, you fuckin' freak!" Robby screamed, finally losing it. I'll kill your ass! I'll fuckin' kill you!" He pushed himself to his feet, turning towards his still laughing tormentor, running at him, his hands outreached like he wanted to choke him.

The Joker just smirked, watching at the boy came closer, and as he finally was upon him, the lunatic leaned back, making some imperceptible motion with his hands.

Robby lurched forward, his hands as his throat.

The Joker watched the boy with a perplexed expression as he continued to stumble forward, a gurgling, chocking sound now coming from him.

"Are… are you alright?" He asked, the sound of genuine concern in his voice. "Whatever is the matter? Tell me Gobbert! What's troubling you so?"

"Robby! Robby, what's wrong!?" His girlfriend called out to him, seeing him stumble once more, and suddenly the boy fell to his knees.

"Robby!"

The Joker walked to him, leaning down and looking in to his face.

He gasped suddenly, loudly, his eyes growing wide.

"Oh my…" He placed a hand over his mouth and then on his cheek. "How dreadful. How terribly dreadful." He said, shaking his head.

"What did… what did you do to him!?" The girlfriend screamed. And as if in answer, blood began to drip on to the pavement, and shortly following, Robby fell to his face, motionless.

"ROBBY! ROBBY!" His girlfriend leapt forward, towards him. The rest of the students were frozen in absolute terror.

"Oh God, oh God! What did you do to him!?" She began to sob desperately as she leaned over the boy's body.

The Joker tapped his lips with a long index finger, as if in contemplation.

"Hmmm." He began, calmly. "It would seem as though our dear Robby's throat made sudden and, apparently, very violent contact with one of my razor edged playing cards." He said, his tone matter of fact, and he then produced the weapon, fingering it, its reflective surface shinning under the street lights, its edge rimmed red with blood. "Most unfortunate." He finished, placing a foot along the now dead Robby's shoulder and pushing him to his back, so that his slashed throat was now exposed for all to see.

Immediately the two girls screamed in horror, the remaining boys gasping, their faces filled with shock, tears filling all their eyes from the fear they felt now ten fold.

"You bastard! You bastard!" The girlfriend cried, wobbling to her feet. "You goddamned monster!" She screamed.

"Oh do shut _up_ you sniveling sow." The Joker rolled his eyes. "Your ceaseless shrieks and whines are giving me a headache!"

"Harley." He said, gesturing her towards him.

She wasted no time.

"The gun." He motioned for her to hand it to him. She did. And immediately he aimed the thing and shot the girl in the head. She slumped to the ground, blood flowing in a pool around her.

The group of now only three erupted in to cries and screams, one boy turning suddenly and running.

He had made it only a few feet before another shot rang out and he fell dead to the ground, also having been shot in the head.

The Joker strode to the remaining two, picking up his suit coat along the way and putting it back on.

The students shrunk back as he came nearer, their faces stained with tears and mucus.

"Oh Jesus, p-p-please don't k-kill us." The boy cried. The girl was beyond speaking.

"Have a whiff of my flower." The Joker said smoothly, ignoring their tears and pleas. And he squeezed the carnation which sat perched on his lapel, a green gas wafting from it, in to their faces.

Immediately they began to cough, gasping for breath, only moments later falling to the ground as their hacking turned to intense laughter, their faces beginning to spread in to grotesque grins. Within the minute, a red, gelatinous substance had begun to pour from their mouths and nose, their laughter beginning to taper off, and in the seconds following, their bodies stiffened, their movement ceased, and very soon afterwards, they were dead.

The Joker examined them with curiosity, bending down to take a closer look. Harley stood back, saying nothing.

"Hmm." He began, thoughtfully. "I believe our friend's at the local lab will have a splendid time in trying to develop the anti-toxin, don't you think Harl?"

"Sure will Puddin'." She answered.

He nodded, and continued to study the dead bodies for several minutes, just starring at them, before finally standing, taking up his cane from the ground.

"Now then, what was our course of action before being rudely disrupted by those vile intruders?" He asked.

"Uh… I think we were gonna get somethin' to eat, right Mistah J?"

Harley had learned over the course of being with him that The Joker, if distracted in some way, had a tendency to forget what he had been planning or thinking just minutes before, and so she took the opportunity, hoping he wouldn't remember he had wanted to visit another journalist that night.

"Oh, yes!" He smiled. "Well then, your choice dear. Wherever you would like!"

"Really Mistah J!?" She clasped her hands together, a broad smile on her face.

"Of course angel." He said sweetly.

Harley squealed with excitement.

"Oh, thanks Puddin'! I know _just _the place!" She jumped. "Come on!"

He watched as she skipped forward, and he ambled along behind, reaching in to a vest pocket, pulling a single joker card from it.

"For you darling." He whispered, tossing the card to the ground.

Harley was already several feet ahead, bouncing with energy as she always was.

He made up the distance quickly with his long stride.

"We'll pick up that camera after we've eaten dearest." He said quietly, moving past her.

She halted in her tracks, starring up at him.

He kept walking, and only smiled.

Batman leaned down, over the bodies, the back of his hand held to his lips. He felt sick to his stomach.

This was new. Some sort of new poison.

The vigilante frowned, extracting blood from the still warm corpse of a girl.

He'd only just been there. Maybe 40 minutes past, at most.

Batman stood, his eyes scanning the area, and walking a few feet, he bent down, taking up the playing card. He starred at it for a long minute. He knew The Joker had left it for him.

Everything that sick bastard did was done to instigate him.

He looked behind.

Why had he been _here_ though? Had he just been wondering through the mid-town district and come upon this group of unfortunate youths? Had he followed them here and killed them then?

The bodies lay right outside an apartment complex. Batman starred at the entrance and saw the callbox. He noticed the light on the keypad was out.

"No." He whispered, walking to the door. It pulled open on its own, and immediately, the vigilante's heart sank.

He'd been in here.

Walking in further, he saw the dead watchman almost instantly and moved to examine the body.

"Bullet wound. Joker's been varied tonight." He talked to himself, feeling disgust.

He reached to below the right ear of his cowl.

"Oracle."

"Yeah. I'm here Batman."

"I'm at 18th and Belmont. Address 1678. It's a mid-town apartment complex. Middle of the road. Joker's been here. Why?"

"Hold on." The woman's voice on the other end said.

Only some 30 seconds past before she again spoke.

"One Arnold C. Goldstein lives there. Apartment number 408, floor eighteen. He's a writer for The Gotham Gazette. One of the regulars to report on any news involving Joker. Usually stays pretty neutral in his write-ups."

"That's all I need."

Batman cut the line.

He looked down at his hand, still holding the playing card.

He starred at it for some seconds, his mind racing. He would have to go up to the apartment, see what had happened. He had no doubt in his mind that the reporter was dead. He didn't need to see a body to know that. Not when The Joker was involved.

And then his fingers folded over, crushing the card in his palm, and he moved for the stair well.

"I'm coming Joker."

"I'm coming for you."


End file.
